


The Long Con

by Clowns_or_Midgets



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:42:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clowns_or_Midgets/pseuds/Clowns_or_Midgets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>7.02 – Lucifer: "It ends when you can't take it anymore." Faced with a hallucination and his brother, Sam makes the wrong choice. Now he is alone in the world. What will Dean do to save him, and will he get there in time? LIMP!SAM WORRIED!DEAN</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Oh, this can't be good," Dean muttered as he pulled up beside a grungy looking factory. Though it was late, and the parking lot was empty of all but a black van, lights blazed in the high windows. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he climbed from the car and started towards the door.

Sam didn't hear the car pull up outside. His attention was focused on the gun in his hand. Its weight was familiar and comforting in his hand. Seemingly without thought, Sam tilted the gun so its barrel shone in the overhead light. It would be so easy…

"Sam! Sam!" Dean's voice broke into Sam's distracted appraisal of the weapon.

"Oh look. Another me."

Sam's head snapped up, and he saw a second Dean walk through the steel door.

"Sam, what are you doing?" he demanded.

Sam's head snapped between the Dean standing beside him—the Dean that had driven him to this place—and the newcomer. His mind reeled as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. In his distraction, the new Dean had come closer, too close; his presence made Sam even more anxious. He raised his gun and pointed it at the new Dean.

Dean's hands flew up in front of him. "Whoa, whoa!" He couldn't believe Sam, his brother, was pointing a gun at him.

"I was with you, Dean!" Sam said desperately. He looked as if he was on the verge of tears.

"Okay. Well, here I am." Dean tried to sound reasonable, but his fear made his voice a little unsteady.

"No. No, I don't, I..." Sam's eyes looked to his left and then fell on Dean again. "I can't know that for sure. You understand me?"

Dean understood all too well. Sam was in the grips of something Dean couldn't fight for him, and it physically hurt him to watch Sam's struggle. He marshaled his expression into something hopefully reassuring to Sam and spoke. "Okay, now we're gonna have to start small."

"I don't remember driving here," Sam said and then looked to his left again, as if someone else was there, talking to him.

Dean was concerned, wondering what Lucifer was whispering to him. His concern morphed into something drastically different as Sam raised his gun and shot at thin air.

"Whoa, whoa, Sam! This discussion does not require a weapon's discharge!" Dean bellowed, his hands still held up in front of him.

Sam nodded vaguely, his breaths coming in heavy gasps. Slowly, he lowered his gun.

Breathing an inaudible sigh of relief, Dean stepped a little closer to his brother.

"Look at me," he said. "Come on. You don't know what's real? Look, man, I've been to Hell. Okay, I know a thing or two about torture. Enough to know that it feels different. Than the pain of this, this regular, stupid, crappy this."

"No, no. How can you know that for sure?" Sam implored Dean with his gaze, the way he did when he was a child and was scared.

Dean felt a wave of sadness as he recognized the expression in his adult brother's face. It didn't belong there anymore. Sam was a grown man now. He shouldn't look so childlike in his fear.

"Let me see your hand," Dean said as he reached out toward his brother. Sam offered his right hand, but that was not the one Dean needed to prove his point. "No, no, the gimp hand. Let me see it."

Sam's head snapped to the left again, and his forehead creased. Dean knew he was listening to Lucifer again. He used Sam's distraction to grab Sam's left hand.

"Hey!" Dean shook Sam's injured hand. "This is real. Not a year ago, not in Hell, now. I was with you when you cut it. I sewed it up! Look!" Hating what he had been forced to do to reach his brother, Dean squeezed Sam's bandaged hand, pressing against the recently stitched wound. At the same moment, he reached out and grabbed the barrel of the gun in Sam's hand.

Sam drew in a hissed breath as the pain registered, and he winced away from Dean involuntarily.

"This is different, right?" Dean said remorselessly. "Than the crap that's tearing at your walnut. I'm different, right?

Sam snatched his hand away from Dean, and his eyes widened.

"See? Now you know," the Dean standing to Sam's left said. "I would never hurt you like that. I could never. Lucifer is the one that hurts you, not me."

In that moment, it all became clear to Sam. There were two Deans with him, but only one was his brother. The other was a fallen angel with a grudge to bear. And only one of them would hurt Sam.

Dean saw something shift in Sam's eyes, and his heart sank. He hadn't reached him. He had been so sure he would. For him, the pain of real life and the pain of Hell were different. Something in Sam's broken mind had stopped him from seeing the truth.

Before he could think to stop him, Sam snatched the gun back from Dean and raised it in front of him, pointing it directly at Dean's heart.

"No," he said in a hoarse voice. "The real Dean wouldn't hurt me. You are the one that hurts me, Lucifer." He spat the name. "You can't trick me again."

Dean's eyes widened. He understood at last. Sam wasn't seeing Lucifer and Dean; he was seeing two Dean's. It had been a favorite pastime of Alastair's to mimic Sam's face as he tortured him. Now Lucifer was employing the same technique, and Sam wasn't able to tell the difference.

"Sammy, it's me," he said desperately. "Look at me."

Sam's hand shook as he leveled the gun at his brother. "You're not Dean."

"I am! Look into my eyes, Sam. Tell me you can't see the truth."

Sam laughed harshly. He knew better than to risk staring into Lucifer's eyes. "I don't think so." He took a step forward, holding the gun out in front of him, and Dean took an automatic step back. "I am leaving now, and Dean is coming with me."

"Sam, no!" Dean cried. "That's not, whoever you are seeing, that's not me. I'm Dean. Whatever you are seeing, it's not real. It's just your brain screwing with you again."

To Dean's horror, Sam turned to his left and nodded. "I know that, Dean. But what if he follows me?" He stayed silent for a moment as he listened intently to someone that existed only in his mind. "You're right." He looked pleased by whatever it was he had heard. Keeping the gun trained on Dean, Sam stepped around him and backed towards the door.

"Sam, no," Dean pleaded. "Don't do this. Don't leave."

Sam tilted his head to the side as he surveyed Dean. It hurt Dean to have his brother looking at him with such hatred.

"We're leaving now, and you won't be able to follow us. I know the truth now, and you can't trick me again."

"Sammy, please," Dean said desperately.

Dean was barely had time to leap out of the way as he saw Sam's finger twitch towards the trigger. A second later, a shot rang out and ricocheted from a pipe in the opposite wall.

"You don't call me Sammy," Sam hissed. "Only he gets to do that." He gestured at the empty space beside him.

Dean was at a loss. He couldn't move to stop Sam, not without risking his life, and words didn't seem to be enough to reach him now. He was forced to watch as Sam backed through the door, casting him a baleful glare as he disappeared.

A minute later, Dean heard the sound of an engine rumbling to life and tires crunching on the gravel of the parking lot. His heart sank as he realized that was the sound of his brother disappearing from his life, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He waited until the sounds of the van had faded, and then he drew in a shaky breath. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone and dialed. A moment later, Bobby's gruff voice came over the receiver. "Dean, we've got a problem."

"Same here," Dean said. "And I bet mine trumps yours."

"I guess that depends on your opinion of Leviathans. I've just had a close encounter with one, and it wasn't pretty."

Dean cursed under his breath. "Dammit, Bobby. I don't need this right now."

"Well, I'm sorry, princess. What has your panties in a bunch?"

"Sam is gone. He pulled a gun on me and took off."

Bobby let loose a stream of cuss words. "Any idea where he went?"

"None," Dean said. "And you haven't heard the best part yet. He's got a new co-pilot, and his name's Lucifer."

"Balls."


	2. Chapter 2

"Here, you drive," Dean said, tossing Sam a set of keys.

"You want me to drive?" Sam questioned.

"I'm trusting you, okay? I figure even someone with a brain as screwed as yours can manage to drive without taking our asses over a cliff."

Sam bit his lip. He thought once he had proven that he could differentiate between the real Dean and Lucifer that Dean would go a little easier on him. The things he had said in the car on the way to the factory had been harsh, and though he wouldn't admit it to Dean, they had hurt him. It reminded Sam of the way Dean had been after he had killed Lilith and sprung Lucifer from his cage. Then, it was deserved. Now, Sam wasn't so sure. It wasn't his fault Cas had torn down the wall in his mind.

"You still have the key, right?" Dean asked.

Sam checked his pocket and pulled out the spare Impala key he carried. "Yeah."

"You want to get your ass in here before your new play buddy comes out and starts chatting again?" Dean barked from the shotgun seat.

Sam hurriedly climbed into the car and gunned the engine. "Where are we heading?" he asked. "Back to Bobby's?"

"Nah, I don't think Bobby's is the place for us right now. How about you head for the interstate and we find ourselves a motel."

"What about Bobby? We can't just abandon him."

"Ya think?" Dean said sarcastically. "Bobby will catch up with us. He's working his own job at the moment."

Sam sighed. He knew that already, and he should have remembered. It seemed his eggs were more scrambled than he thought. Not only was he tripping out and seeing two Deans, he was now forgetting obvious things. Luckily for him, he had Dean to keep things straight.

He pulled out of the parking lot, casting the warehouse a baleful look in his rearview mirror. Lucifer would be gone now. With no Sam there to see him, he couldn't exist. Sam felt his heart lighten somewhat at the realization. He was not so stupid as to believe that was the last he would see of Lucifer, but he was free of him for now.

"Come on, Grandma," Dean said. "Put the pedal to the metal. At the speed you're going, we are going to be driving all night, and I'm tired. Saving your brother from his own cracked gourd takes it out of you."

Sam sent Dean an apologetic look and increased their speed.

Despite Dean's complaints of tiredness, they drove for hours before he was satisfied that they had put enough distance between them and the warehouse. They came to a halt in Iowa, in a small town called Fort Kensington. They got directions from a gas station to the only motel in town. Sam checked them in and carried their bags in while Dean flopped down onto the bed.

"You want the shower?" Sam asked.

"No, I want you to shut your pie hole so I can get some sleep." Dean's voice was muffled by the pillow.

"Sorry," Sam mumbled.

"Oh, Sam"—Dean lifted his head from the pillow and glared at Sam—"if your buddy Lucifer starts chatting to you again…"

"Don't worry. I'll wake you," Sam said.

"Hell, no! You take a message and tell me about it in the morning." Dean chuckled at his own joke and turned his back to Sam.

Sam nodded and headed for the shower. He took longer in the shower than he would have normally done. He wanted to make sure Dean was asleep before going out there again. Sam knew he had put his brother through a lot—and he deserved all he got—but he didn't feel like hearing more of Dean's acerbic tongue tonight.

Stepping hesitantly out of the bathroom, Sam was relieved to see Dean stretched out on the bed, fast asleep.

Sam laid shoved his duffel off the bed and lay down. He was wary of closing his eyes, knowing the nightmares that awaited him—Technicolor flashes of the cage—but exhaustion overwhelmed him, and soon his eyes drooped and he was asleep.

xXx

Sam was woken in the morning by a hard nudge to the shoulder.

"C'mon, sleeping ugly. It's time to rise and shine."

He raised his head slowly from the pillow and glared at his brother.

"You can cut the bitch face," Dean said. "It's not my fault that you're tired. I'm not the one that was thrashing and shouting all night. You can thank your buddy Lucifer for that. As I can thank him for my crappy night's sleep."

Sam cast his eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep you up."

"And yet you did it anyway. Anyway, while you were sleeping the sleep of the demented, I was busy on the phone. Bobby called. He and I have decided it's best if we keep our distance for now."

"What about the Leviathans? Shouldn't we be working together to stop them?"

"And what exactly are we going to do?" Dean asked. "We have zero intel on them, and the one person that could have helped us is dead."

Sam frowned as he thought of Castiel. He would once have died to save Castiel, but that was before Castiel had torn down the wall in his mind, leaving him in this mess. He tried to think of Castiel as he had once been, as a brother, but the memory of him pressing his hand to Sam's forehead and destroying his mind overcame his best intentions. There were some things you just couldn't forgive, and Sam feared this was one of them.

A pair of socks struck Sam in the face, and he was brought from his thoughts.

"Are you with me?" Dean asked. "Or are you chatting with your buddy Lucifer again?"

Sam cleared his throat. "I'm fine."

"If you say so," Dean muttered.

"Honestly, Dean, I'm not seeing anything I shouldn't."

Dean nodded. "Well, the second that changes, I want to know about it."

Sam nodded and headed towards the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and shaved on auto-pilot. His mind was sluggish and his mood dour. He didn't like the idea of separating from Bobby. It didn't feel right, but he couldn't bring himself to argue with Dean when he was already so pissed at Sam.

Dean was sitting at the small table when Sam got out of the bathroom. He was tapping his foot impatiently and staring pointedly at his watch.

"About damn time," Dean said. "You finished styling your hair? I'm hungry."

Disappointed that Dean's mood hadn't improved in his absence, Sam grabbed his jacket and opened the door, gesturing Dean out ahead of him. Sam had spotted a small diner on the way to the motel, and he directed his steps there now. For once, Dean didn't seem inclined to argue. He followed Dean down the street without comment. Sam thought he was just intent on getting some food.

When they reached the diner, Sam took a seat in a booth and Dean paused at the side of the table. "I need the bathroom. Order for me, okay?"

Sam nodded and watched Dean as he disappeared through a door at the back of the room. A waitress bustled over to the table, notepad in hand. She wore a badge naming her as Shelley.

"What can I get you, sugar?" she asked.

"A short stack and two coffees please." Sam wasn't hungry. His stomach was in knots.

"Two coffees?" Shelly quirked a brow.

"If that's okay," Sam said, wondering at her confused tone.

"Sure, whatever you want." She jotted down his order and walked back to the counter.

Sam sat back in his seat and stared around the diner. For the time of day, it wasn't very busy. Only a couple of tables were occupied, and no one was paying him any attention. He was glad of it. He had enough scrutiny from Dean. He didn't need more.

Sam pulled his phone from his pocket, thinking to call Bobby and check in. He was surprised that it was turned off. He must have switched it off when he was under the influence of Lucifer. He turned it on, and an alert came in notifying him of several waiting voicemails and missed calls. The calls were from Dean—presumably from when Sam was off on his wanderings with Lucifer—and Bobby. Sam dialed Bobby's number and waited impatiently for him to answer.

"This is Bobby Singer's direct hotline. You should not have this number," Bobby's gruff voice said through the receiver.

"Bobby, it's me. I'm just checking in, making sure you're okay. Dean told me what you said about keeping distance, but if you change your mind give me a call. I'm worried about you."

He snapped the phone closed and put it down on the table, just as Dean slid into the seat opposite him.

"Who was that?" he asked suspiciously.

"I just called Bobby," Sam said. "I didn't get through though, so I left him a message."

"Why would you do that?" Dean asked, snatching up the phone and pulling the back off. "I told you we agreed to keep our distance. Don't you trust me?"

Sam's eyes widened. "Of course I trust you. I was just checking in on him."

"Doesn't sound like it to me." Dean popped out the battery of Sam's phone and pocketed it.

"Why are you doing that?" Sam asked, confusion furrowing his brow.

"I'm removing temptation. If Bobby wants us, he can call me. You don't need your phone right now. What you need is to learn to trust me."

"I do, Dean."

"Then this shouldn't be a problem. The way I see it, there are two of us here, and only one of us has a fully functioning brain. I need to be the one in charge. Any argument?"

Sam shook his head and looked up as Shelley returned with a plate of pancakes and two coffees on a tray. She set the plate and coffees down in front of Sam, not casting Dean a passing glance. Sam shoved the pancakes and one of the coffees across the table to Dean who grabbed a fork and ate with gusto.

Sam sipped at his coffee and braced himself for the reaction to his next question. "What are we going to do next, Dean? The Leviathans are out there, and we have no idea who or what they are."

"Leave them to me, little brother," Dean said through a mouthful of pancakes. "In the meantime, we work the hunt as we always do. When we get back to the motel, you can use that mammoth brain of yours to hunt down a case for us on the laptop."

Sam nodded reluctantly and cast his eyes down to the table again.

When Dean had finished his breakfast, and Sam had paid the tab, they headed back to the motel. As soon as they got into their room, Dean flicked on the TV and flopped down on the bed. Sam took his laptop out of his bag and connected to the slow motel Wi-Fi service. He scanned the local news pages, looking for something that would fall into their line of work.

"Here, I think I have something," he said, scanning the article. "Missing hikers in the Shimek State Forest."

"And that is our problem why?" Dean asked, not looking up from the TV.

"The campsite was pretty torn up, but there was no blood or signs of animal prints. The local rangers are at a loss as to what did it."

"What else is new?" Dean said, yawning. "Still don't think it's our concern."

"Come on, Dean. This sounds like a wendigo."

Dean flicked off the TV and turned to sit on the edge of the bed. "Okay, you've got my attention. What are we going to do about it?"

"I was thinking we could go take a look around. If it is a wendigo, then there will be more victims. They only got two this time; that won't be enough to sate it."

"Fine." Dean pushed himself to his feet. "Let's go hunt us a wendigo!"

xXx

"Oh no," Dean moaned as he caught sight of the ruined house. The charred frame was still smoking. "Oh please, no."

He and Bobby had arranged to meet back at the house to gather supplies and set out in their hunt for Sam. It had taken Dean a while to hotwire the van Sam had left behind and to get back to the house. Long enough for Bobby to have gotten back here in time to be inside when the house was torched? Dean hoped not.

He pulled the van to a grinding halt and jumped out. "Bobby! Dammit, Bobby, you better be here or I'm gonna…"

"Gonna what, exactly?" a gruff voice asked from behind him.

Dean spun on his heel and saw Bobby walking out of the ruined workshop. Dean's heart leapt at the sight. He crossed the distance between them in a few long strides and pulled Bobby into his embrace. "Dammit, Bobby, I thought you were in there," he said, fisting the older man's jacket. "What the hell happened?"

"No good asking me. By the time I got back here, it was already ashes." He cast the ruins of his house a doleful look.

"I think I can answer that for you." A man stepped around a stack of precariously placed cars and made for the two men. "Dean Winchester, this is going to be such a pleasure."

"Who the hell are you?" Dean demanded.

"My name is Edgar, and I am here to see that you are dealt with. Where is your brother? I heard that you were inseparable."

Dean hid his grimace with effort. He and Sam had been almost inseparable until Lucifer came into the mix. Now, Sam was God knows where doing God knows what.

"He's a little busy at the moment," Bobby said. "You'll just have to deal with us. Now, what do you want?"

"I want you dead, Mr. Singer," Edgar said. "Well, I want Dean and Sam Winchester dead. Apparently, they are competent enough to warrant annihilating." He looked at Dean. "I'd take it as a compliment."

Dean snorted. "Sure, a compliment. Unfortunately for you, you aren't the first person that wanted me and my brother dead, and as you know, we're still kicking. You see, unlike you, we are not inept."

Edgar's eyes darted sideways in time to see Bobby level a shotgun at him. With a grim smile, Bobby pulled the trigger and the side of Edgar's face became a mass of black blood.

Dean grinned, feeling satisfaction in his enemy's demise, which soon turned to horror as Edgar remained standing. In fact, he didn't seem injured at all. He placed a hand at his face and pulled it away to look at the black blood covering his palm. He frowned, and then his face transformed. It was a sight unlike anything Dean or Bobby had ever seen before. The mouth widened, taking over the face, and a forked tongue protruded from a mouthful of teeth.

A split second later, Edgar's face returned to normal, and he shoved Dean away. Dean flew through the air, landing on the windshield of a car. Bobby heard a sickening cracking sound as Dean's leg broke. Dean momentarily blacked out as he slid from the car onto the dirty ground. Fortuitously, right beside the control panel for the vehicle hoist

Bobby raised a fist to strike Edgar, but before he could land the blow, Dean called out to him. "Back, Bobby!"

Bobby leapt back, and Dean slammed a finger onto the release button.

Edgar looked up at the sound of creaking chains and saw the car dropping directly over him. He tried to jump out of the way, but it was too late. With a crashing of metal and a sick squelching sound, he was pinned beneath the car.

Bobby hurried to Dean's side. "You okay, son?"

Dean grimaced. "I think my leg is broken, and my head is thumping, but other than that, I'm peachy."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "At least you're better off than him." He nodded towards the pool of black blood seeping out from under the busted car. "You think you can get to the car, or do I need to call an ambulance?"

"I can make it to the car," Dean said with determination. He was not going to call an ambulance. How were they supposed to explain the dead body under the car or the rapidly spreading blood? No, he would have to make it to the car.

Bobby went to get his car from where he had parked it the other side of the ruined house and brought it as close to Dean as he could. With numerous curses and groans of pain, Dean got himself situated in the passenger seat. The pain in his leg was agonizing, but it was better this than an ambulance.

"Come on, boy, let's get you fixed up," Bobby said as he gunned the engine.

Dean rested his head back against the seat and wondered what his brother was doing at that moment.


	3. Chapter 3

"Flare guns, gasoline, torches, we're all set for wendigo central," Dean said as he rifled through the contents of the Impala's truck.

"Good to know," Sam said with a wry smile.

Dean's mood had improved exponentially since they had set out for the hunt. He had sung along with the stereo as Sam drove them to the state park. Sam was relieved by this change in his brother, and his own mood lightened to match.

Sam loaded a duffel with everything they would need as Dean watched approvingly.

"Been a while since we hunted a wendigo," Dean said conversationally. "Not since I busted you out of Stanford."

Sam frowned. He didn't like to think of that particular hunt. It had been shortly after Jess was killed and he had still been deep in the depths of his grief.

"What's up your butt?" Dean asked.

"Nothing," Sam muttered, trying to find his way back to the lighthearted mood of only a few minutes ago.

Dean sighed. "Oh. Jess. You okay?" Sam could have been wrong, but he thought he heard a note of genuine concern in Dean's voice.

"I'm fine," Sam said automatically and patted the trunk. "Are you ready to go? This wendigo isn't going to kill itself."

Dean grinned. "Ready when you are."

Shouldering the duffel, Sam followed Dean onto the forest trail.

Sam had downloaded a map of the forest areas before they left the motel, and some hacking around had found them the coordinates of the missing hikers campground. They decided to start their hunt there.

Dean kept his eyes on his phone as they walked, reading the GPS. He stumbled occasionally, but when Sam offered to take a turn with the phone he refused. Sam thought he was worried Sam might try to call Bobby again. Sam didn't see why it was a problem. Surely it was important for them to keep in touch with Bobby. Anything could be happening to the older man with the Leviathans out there. He decided he would talk to Dean about checking in with him once they were done with this hunt.

After three hours hiking, they came to the place the hikers had camped. They found an area that looked like it had been chewed over by at least a dozen people. Boot-prints were everywhere, destroying any chance they had of following the trail of the wendigo—if there had ever been any tracks to follow. As Sam had once said, wendigos were near perfect hunters.

"Well, this sucks," Dean said, kicking at a fallen branch. "Deputy Dufus and his team have already been through here."

"It wasn't likely that we were going to find anything useful here, anyway," Sam said reasonably.

Dean snorted. "It's not like I brought anything useful with me either."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked. "We have flare guns, gasoline…"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, we've got plenty of weapons. They should come in useful if we ever track it down. That's assuming it is a wendigo and not some inept hikers that took on a bear and lost."

"I told you, there was no sign of animals in their camp," Sam said.

"Yeah, yeah, I remember." Dean rubbed his jaw in silent contemplation of their surroundings. "So, where next?"

Sam had skimmed through his father's journal before they had left the motel. That and what he had learned firsthand from hunting a wendigo told him they needed to search for somewhere underground for the wendigo's lair.

There had been mention of a cave system on the forest's webpage, but there were no directions as to where they were. Moreover, they hadn't brought any camping gear with them. It would not be the first time they had slept under the stars with nothing but their clothes to keep them warm, but Sam had a feeling Dean would not be happy to do it again.

"I think we should head back to the motel and do a little more research," Sam said reluctantly.

"You didn't do enough already, library boy?" Dean asked with a smile.

It was the first time Dean had called him that in a long time, and that, coupled with the smile, made Sam grin in response. It seemed things weren't all bad after all. "I did plenty," he said. "But I don't know where the caves are here, and I think they're our best bet at finding the wendigo."

"Can't you use the phone to find what we need?" Dean asked. "It's got internet."

"I need to hack the park service's page to get to what we need. They aren't going to give directions to a bunch of dangerous caves to anyone that browses their site. They'd spend forever pulling people out of them. I need my real computer."

Dean shrugged. "Cave's can't be that hard to find. How big is this place anyway?"

"About ten thousand acres."

"Well, hell, Sam. Why didn't you think to look for caves before we came out here?" Dean asked irritably. It seemed his good mood had gone as fast as it had come.

"I didn't think…" Sam trailed off as something on a tree caught his eye. He rushed towards it and felt a surge of vindication as he saw the deep gores in the bark. "It's a wendigo!" he called over his shoulder. "Take a look at this."

Dean strolled up behind him. "Hmm, I guess you were right after all. Its lair has to be close." His eyes roved the trees.

"I think we should head back and check out the maps before we go looking, Dean. We haven't got the gear to camp out here overnight."

"I thought we agreed that I was the one in charge here," Dean snapped. "Seeing as I am the one with the fully functioning brain."

Sam's gaze snapped to the ground. "You're right."

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "Of course I am. Now, let's go find us a cave." Dean strode off through the trees and Sam, despite the sinking sensation in his gut, followed dutifully.

They did find something of a trail to follow. It was almost like the wendigo wanted to be found. It had gored claw marks in many of the trees they passed. Dean was elated at the sight, and his mood lightened once again. As they walked, he hummed Stairway to Heaven.

Sam allowed himself a small smile. Dean was acting more like his old self than he had in a long time. Sam didn't realize how much Dean had changed over the last few years. There had been plenty to change him, most of it Sam's own fault. He had been the one that popped Lucifer out of his cage. He had been the one that had become addicted to demon blood. He had been the one that had thrown himself into Hell to trap Lucifer once and for all. So many mistakes had heaped on his account. He wondered how Dean had been able to stick with him for so long.

"What's with the bitch face?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"Well that can't be good." Dean spun on his heel and looked Sam in the eye. "Are you seeing shit again?"

Sam shook his head, a little hurt that Dean thought he wouldn't have already told him if anything was amiss. "No, nothing that shouldn't be here."

Dean surveyed him for a minute and then nodded. "Good. If that changes, make sure you tell me. It's not safe for us to be out here hunting if your head's not in the game."

Nodding his agreement, Sam set out on the trail again.

They had walked another hour into the forest and Sam was wondering just how lost they were going to be before Dean conceded defeat when they found the caves.

"Ha! Looks like luck's on our side for a change," Dean said happily.

Sam let the duffel drop the ground, and he rooted through it for what they would need. He shoved a flare gun into the waistband of his jeans and handed the second to Dean.

"That'll do nicely," Dean said, checking the gun was loaded and showing it into his pants beside his .45.

They each took a torch and Sam shouldered the duffel again. Dean gestured Sam ahead of him, and they entered the caves. Sam was surprised that Dean let him lead; he usually preferred to go into any situation ahead of Sam.

The caves were dank and dark. Water dripped from the mossy walls, making light plunking sounds as it landed.

"Nice and creepy," Dean muttered under his breath.

"Yep, which is exactly what a wendigo will like."

They came to a fork in the caves, and Sam paused. "Which one do you think?"

Dean cast his torch beam around the mouth of the two entrances. "We could split up," he suggested.

Sam instantly felt the knot of fear in his gut tighten. "I don't know, Dean. When does splitting up ever work out for us? One of us always ends up getting hurt."

Dean was silent for a long time, and Sam wondered if he too was thinking of all the times they had been hurt while separated.

"You're right," Dean said reluctantly. "Which one do you think we should go down?"

Sam examined the two entrances. They looked almost identical. "I say we go down this one," he said, picking the left cave at random.

"Okay, let's get going. The longer we wait, the longer the wendigo lives, and I don't know about you, but I am looking forward to taking it out."

Sam smiled. It was good to see Dean excited for a hunt.

As they walked, Sam noticed strange shapes at the edges of the caves. He roved the flashlight onto the ground and swallowed back bile as he recognized human bones.

"I guess you were right," Dean said, clapping Sam on the shoulder. "Let's get on with it."

Sam pulled the flare gun out and leveled it in front of him. Dean mimicked the action, and together they set off down the path again.

The first thing to reach them was the inhuman screeching sound, and then it was upon them. It was bigger than the last wendigo they had faced and a lot faster. Dean was bowled over, and he crashed into the rocky wall. Both of his guns skittered across the ground as he slumped in a boneless heap.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, but there was no response. Dean was out cold, and Sam was on his own.

He searched the cavern for a sign of the wendigo, but it had vanished as fast as it had come. He hated to leave Dean, but Sam knew he had to find the wendigo and put an end to it before anyone else was hurt.

Casting his brother a regretful glance, Sam continued down the path. The stench grew thicker the further he went. It was a combination of rotting meat and the metallic tang of blood.

He saw a slight lightening ahead, and he stepped into a wide cavern. With a sinking sensation in his gut, he caught sight of two motionless figures suspended from the ceiling. He hurried towards them and pressed his fingers first against one's throat and then the other. He was too late. They were both dead.

He cursed under his breath and reached up the release the first man's shackled wrists. The least he could do was to ensure they were laid to rest with some dignity.

A sudden weight knocked him over. The wendigo was back. He allowed it to send him to the ground, rolling as he landed, gripping the flare gun against his stomach. The impetus of his roll sent the wendigo flying over him. It didn't take it long to recover itself. Soon it was bearing over Sam, reaching for his throat.

Sam reacted automatically, years of hunting coming to the fore. He raised his arm and discharged the flare gun in the wendigo's gut.

Bright light shone through Dean's eyelids and his head pounded. He tried to open his eyes, but they felt like they had been glued shut.

"C'mon, princess, time to wake up," a gruff voice said beside him.

Dean struggled with his heavy lids and opened them a crack. "Sammy?"

"Afraid not."

Dean's eyes snapped open and fell upon Bobby sitting in a chair beside him. He surveyed his surroundings and saw he was in a hospital room. Memories rushed at him, Sam in the warehouse, Bobby's gutted house, Edgar throwing him into a car.

"I broke my leg?" he questioned, rubbing a hand over his stubbly jaw.

"A nice clean break," Bobby said. "So the doctors say."

"Why am I still here then?"

"Well, they drugged you to the gills to reset the break, and you've been out of it all night. Now you're awake, we can get out of here."

"Any word of Sam?" Dean asked.

"Actually, yeah. He called this morning. I missed him, unfortunately. I was on another call at the time, but he left a message."

Dean felt a wave of relief. His brother was at least alive. He didn't realize how great that fear was until now. Lucifer could have had him doing anything, including hurting himself. He was mortified to find tears springing to his eyes.

Bobby squeezed his shoulder, comforting Dean as best he could.

"What did he say?" Dean asked, looking away and thumbing the tears out of his eyes.

Bobby dialed up his message service and held the phone out to Dean. Dean smiled wanly as he heard his brother's voice coming over the receiver.

"Bobby, it's me. I'm just checking in, making sure you're okay. Dean told me what you said about keeping distance, but if you change your mind, give me a call. I'm worried about you."

He played the message through twice. He told himself it was to see if there were any clues in the background noise to Sam's whereabouts, but really he just wanted to reassure himself that his brother was okay.

"What do you think he means by 'Dean told me'?" Bobby asked.

"He's seeing me," Dean said. "Lucifer must be copying me to confuse him. It's a favorite pastime of Hell residents." He sighed. "When we were in the warehouse, I tried to reach him by showing him the difference between real pain and the pain of Hell."

"You hurt him?"

"I didn't want to," Dean said defensively. "It was all I could think to do."

"Sorry." Bobby raised his hands in front of him. "I didn't mean… Never mind. You tried to reach him, so what happened?"

Dean looked at a point above Bobby's head. "He said the real Dean wouldn't hurt him. He thought I was Lucifer. He took off on his own, only apparently he doesn't think he's alone. He's got Lucifer with him pretending to be me."

Bobby cursed. "And this keeping distance thing is Lucifer's doing."

"I guess so. Although, in the end, it's all Sam. Lucifer is just a figment of his imagination."

Bobby took off his cap and ran his hand through his graying hair. "This is such a damn mess. Why would Sam, or Sam's brain, want him to stay away from me?"

"Well, that's where I am drawing a blank. If it was really Lucifer in the driving seat, it would make sense. By separating us, he is making Sam weaker, but why Sam would subconsciously want to be away from us, I don't know."

"Maybe…" Bobby trailed off.

"Maybe what?" Dean asked harshly. "You think Sam wants away from us?"

Bobby looked awkward. "We we haven't exactly been one hundred percent behind him lately. Yesterday, when he told us about seeing Lucifer, we could have been a little more supportive and a little less accusatory."

"You mean I could have," Dean said. "I could have been more supportive."

Bobby turned his cap round in his hands. "We all made mistakes."

"Apparently me more than anyone. I've driven my brother off."

"Now, that's not what I am saying. If Sam was in his right mind, he would never have gone. But he's not. He's got Satan riding shotgun and pressing his buttons. On some unconscious level, he might even be thinking he's doing the right thing by us to take himself out of the equation. The boy is known for staggering acts of sacrifice."

Dean knew all too well what Bobby meant. Sam's guilt had led him to take a dive into Lucifer's cage.

"What are we going to do, Bobby?" Dean asked in a tremulous voice. "How are we going to find him?"

Bobby sighed heavily. "I don't know, boy. I have tried calling him a dozen times, but his phone is turned off. I've left messages, but who knows when he will pick them up, or if he even will."

"Well, first things first, let's get me out of here." He pushed back the covers and dragged himself round so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. "Do you know where they stashed my clothes?"

"At the nurse's station, I think. I'll go get them for you."

Bobby disappeared out the door. Dean shifted himself to the edge of the bed and tugged out the IV line in his arm. Across the room was a pair of crutches leaning against the wall.

Thinking that it couldn't be that hard to get across the room with a cast, he pushed himself to his feet and promptly sprawled on the floor.

"Dammit," he cursed.


	4. Chapter 4

The week following the wendigo hunt was not one of the best Sam could recollect. Dean was bad tempered, and Sam bore the brunt of the bad mood. Despite the fact they had no new case to work, Dean insisted that they move on from Fort Kensington, heading west through Nebraska and Colorado and into Utah. It seemed Dean was taking his mission to keep distance from Bobby literally.

When Dean eventually decided it was time for them to stop, they were in a town called South Fairfield, in Montgomery County. Sam found them a motel, and once again, he checked them in while Dean stayed in the car, singing along to the radio.

"I'm hungry," Dean announced, when they were situated in their room.

Sam grimaced. He hadn't had much of an appetite for a while, not since the warehouse in fact. He had been feeling off ever since that night, though he couldn't define what felt wrong. He wasn't seeing Lucifer anymore, which was a blessing, but something in him wasn't right. He would have liked to talk it out with Dean, but something held him back. Strangely, Dean hadn't picked up on Sam's disquiet.

"You want to go out or should I go pick something up?" Sam asked.

On the road, Dean had preferred to eat from takeout joints, and Sam had always been the one to go get it. He didn't mind exactly, but he thought his appetite might improve if he wasn't eating out of Styrofoam.

"Sure, go get me a burger," Dean instructed. "And don't forget—"

"The pie," Sam finished for him with a wry smile.

Dean nodded and returned his attention to the TV.

Sam shrugged on his jacket and made his way out to the Impala. In the past, he was lucky if Dean let him drive, but since the warehouse Dean had let him drive everywhere. Sam thought it was because Dean wanted him to have something to do rather than dwell on Lucifer and what had happened. Sam couldn't believe how he had almost been taken in by the fallen angel; things could have gone so wrong if he had chosen the wrong Dean.

He strolled along the sidewalk, enjoying the crisp evening air. It was good to be outside after days of being trapped in the car. The town was nice, small but well kept. The residents obviously took pride in their homes. As he passed a small house, Sam glanced through the window. He saw a family sitting down at a table, enjoying a meal together. He wondered at their lives. Were they happy? Were they satisfied? Sam had once been satisfied with his life. Back when he had Jess. It wasn't the life he was supposed to have had, though. From the moment Azazel's blood touched his lips, he had been cursed. He had overcome that curse, finally, but that didn't mean he could return to a normal life. He was a hunter, born and bred, nothing could change that anymore.

His thoughts had carried him to the diner, and he sat at the counter and placed his order with an over friendly waitress. She was attractive, beautiful even, but she held to allure to Sam. He didn't see people anymore, he saw potential victims that he could save. His father would be so proud. He finally had the hunter's mindset.

"Here you go," the waitress said, passing him a sack of food. "Is there anything else I can get you?" She smiled alluringly at him.

Sam shook his head politely. "I'm good thanks." He made up for his lackluster response by giving her a hefty tip, checking his bill fold as he did. They would have to make some cash up soon. Unless Dean had a wedge he wasn't sharing, they were down to their last couple hundred dollars cash. They had the credit cards, of course, but Sam liked to have a healthy amount of real cash, too.

He hurried his pace as he walked back to the motel, not wanting to let the food get cold. That would do nothing to help Dean's mood. He wondered at his brother's behavior. His moods changed like the flick of a switch, surly and unpleasant one moment and his good old self the next. Just when Sam thought he couldn't take anymore backbiting, Dean's mood would switch and he would be fine again. It was like he was purposely testing Sam's limits.

When he got back to the motel, surly Dean was in residence. He held out a hand for the food with a barked, "Took you long enough!"

Sam apologized quietly, and settled at the table with his own food.

"So," Dean said as he swallowed his last mouthful of burger, "you hear anything interesting while you were out?"

Sam's brow furrowed in confusion. "Hear anything?"

"A case, Sam. I'm talking about a case." Dean reached onto Sam's bed and pulled the laptop out of the bag. "I've been looking while you were out stretching your legs, and I think I found something in the news."

Sam's attention drifted from the salad he was poking at to his brother. "What is it?"

"Mysterious deaths in Springfield. That's two towns over," he added, seeing Sam's confused look. "Two deaths in two nights, and here's the best part; their hearts were gone."

"Werewolf." Sam sighed. Werewolves were not one of his favorite creatures to hunt. He couldn't put the fact they were humans underneath it all out of his mind. Madison had been proof of that.

"You thinking about Madison?" Dean guessed.

Sam nodded, his eyes downcast.

Dean shrugged. "Water under the bridge, buddy. She's dead. You ventilated her. Let it go before you bring me down with you."

Sam's eyes widened. He had become accustomed to Dean's moods, but this was a new level of low.

"It wasn't like that," he said quietly. "I had to do it."

"No arguments from me; the girl was a menace."

"It wasn't her fault!" Anger was coming to Sam's aid now. "She wasn't in control of what happened to her."

Dean rolled his eyes. "If you say so. Anyway, are we hunting a werewolf or not?"

Sam bit back his ire and forced his voice to sound calm. "Yes, we're hunting werewolves."

Two hours later found them in Springfield. They knew nothing of who the werewolf could be, but the mutilated bodies had been found in a small forest backing onto the town, so they started out there. Armed with a Glock apiece loaded with silver bullets, they settled at the edge of the clearing where the bodies had been found. There was still police tape attached to some of the trees.

"You think it'll come here again?" Sam asked.

"I sure hope so," Dean said, checking his clip. "Otherwise we are going to be down another fine resident of Springfield tomorrow."

Sam was surprised at Dean's callous response. "That's a little harsh, don't you think?"

"I'm just telling it like it is. We kill the wolf, bonus points to us. We don't, it's not the end of the world. We've already seen that."

"You were the one that found the hunt," Sam said. "Why'd you bother if you aren't interested in saving people?"

"You're not listening to me, Sam. I want to save people. I'm just not beating myself up about it if we don't. I'm all for the hunt. Hunts are fun."

"Well, I do care," Sam said. "And I'm not going to sit here like an idiot while some other poor sucker pays."

"What are you going to do? Offer yourself up as bait?" Dean scoffed.

"That's exactly what I am going to do."

Their father's journal said that werewolves tended to return to the same area to hunt, something about familiarity appealing to the animal. If he was right, Sam was going to use that to trap the werewolf.

"You stay here," he instructed. "And be ready with the gun."

Dean looked up at him and laughed. "You think this is going to work? You will just stand there and the wolf will come running."

"It's the best idea either of us have had. We can't just sit here and hope the wolf will amble past." Sam pushed himself to his feet and brushed the dirt from his knees. "Like I said, be ready with the gun."

Sam felt good as he walked away from his brother. He had stood up for himself for the first time in a long time, and better yet, Dean hadn't responded with a right hook. All in all, things were looking up.

There was a narrow trail leading through the forest, but Sam shunned that in favor of walking through the leaf strewn dirt. He made no attempt to quiet his footsteps, feeling a surge of pleasure as he broke twigs and rustled leaves on the ground. He wanted to pose as tempting a prospect to the werewolf as possible.

He felt rather than saw Dean following him at a distance. He was pleased to have his brother watching out for him. He had tackled a few werewolves during the year he hunted with Samuel, and he had the scars to prove it.

He had been walking through the trees for at least an hour before his senses picked up on something other than Dean's almost silent footsteps. There was something or someone else in the forest with him. He turned to face Dean and waved a hand to indicate that he should stay where he was. Satisfied that Dean had understood, Sam continued through the trees, making as much noise as possible.

An earsplitting howl rent the air, and Sam saw a flash of movement through the trees. He pulled out his gun and spun on his heel, searching for a sign of the werewolf. There was nothing, but Sam was sure it was out there watching.

"Anything?" Dean shouted.

Sam turned in his direction and shook his head. "I don't know where—" His words were cut off as something collided with his right side. The gun fell from his hands as he fell to the ground. The wind was knocked out of him, and he sucked in a breath.

"Dean!" he grunted. "Need… little help."

There was no response, and Sam's heart contracted. Had something happened to Dean?

Hi didn't have time to think long on it, as the wolf was coming back for more. It leapt onto Sam's chest and pinned him in place.

He reached out his hand and tried to grab the gun that had fallen. His fingers caught on the grip, and he scrambled to pick it up. He felt a burning pain in his chest as long claws raked his flesh. He looked up into pitiless eyes and was sure they would be the last thing he saw.

His fingers found purchase on the gun, and he pulled it back to aim at the wolf. There was the crack, and the weight on his chest was gone. He scrambled back and got to his feet.

The werewolf was lying prone on the ground. Sam turned it over with his foot and was dismayed to see that it was still alive. Heaving breaths moved its chest as it sucked in air. It looked like his bullet had hit a lung.

"Huh, and I thought it was a clean shot," Dean said, coming to stand beside Sam. He looked down at the wolf without pity. Sam leveled his gun at the wolf.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked.

"Putting it out of its misery." Sam pulled the trigger, and the werewolf's head exploded in a mass of blood and brain matter.

He looked away from the sight and checked the gore marks on his chest. There weren't too deep, but a couple of them would require stitches.

Dean pulled Sam's shirt away to check the injuries for himself. "You'll live." He looked down at the werewolf's corpse. "Him on the other hand, needs to be dealt with." Dean dropped the duffel on the ground and pulled out a shovel. "Shall we dig?"

Sam grimaced, hiding the pain in his chest, and pulled out his own shovel. "We dig."

Dean sat half reclined on the couch, staring at the TV. He wasn't paying any attention to the characters playing out their fake lives on the screen. His mind was where it always was these days—with his brother.

It had been a week since Dean had last seen Sam, and each of those days weighed him down like a physical entity. There had been no contact, no calls, and when they tried calling Sam, his phone went straight to voicemail. The GPS was also switched off, though Dean checked it frequently, sure that Sam would turn his phone on eventually.

They were currently holed up in Rufus's old cabin in Whitefish, Montana. Since Bobby's place had been burned down, and Dean had no home outside of the Impala, they had made it their base for the time being.

Dean hated it. He wanted to be on the road, searching for his brother, but he couldn't drive and Bobby refused to drive him around on a fool's errand that would damage Dean's healing leg. It burned Dean to not be looking, but even he had to admit he wouldn't know where to start looking. Sam had dropped off the map.

The door swung open and Bobby came in carrying an armful of books. "I'm fine. Don't get up," he teased as he kicked the door closed and dropped the books onto the table.

"Any news?" Dean asked. It was the first thing he asked every time Bobby came back from one of his excursions.

Bobby nodded. "Plenty, the Leviathans are making themselves known."

"I meant about Sam," Dean said, a hint of irritation.

Bobby sighed. "I know you did, boy, and if there was, I woulda told you. I have all the hunters I know looking out for him, but it's a big ass country, and if Sam doesn't want to be found…"

"He won't be found," Dean finished for him. He raked a hand over his face. "Okay, no Sammy news. What else is happening out there?"

"Talked to a few hunters. They're running into the same kind of thing that set up shop at that hospital."

"Yeah, and don't forget tried to kill us at your place." He rubbed at the cast on his leg. If they hadn't killed that Edgar already, he would have been happy to do it again merely for the inconvenience he had caused.

"Well, consensus is they're, um, they're like shapeshifters only a lot more into eating folk. And nothing can kill 'em.

"Good times. Anything else?"

"Yep. They bleed black goo."

"Helpful," Dean said sarcastically. "Any news on what kills them, yet?"

"According to Garth, they're invincible."

"Garth?"

"A young hunter. He's a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but he's a good kid."

"Doesn't sound much like hunter material to me," Dean noted.

Bobby shrugged. "What can I say? The boy is blessed with some supernatural luck. No matter how inept he is, he always comes out on top."

"Good to know. Is he hunting for Sam? We could do with some of his luck."

"He is, just like they all are," Bobby said patiently. "We're doing all we can, Dean."

"I know. I know. I just feel so damn useless. God knows what he is doing out there alone. Anything could be happening to him."

"He survived without you before," Bobby said gently.

"Yeah, soulless and without a head full of Hell. Not to mention his co-pilot Satan. He could have Sam doing anything."

"He can't hurt him, Dean," Bobby said, thumping down onto the couch beside Dean and handing him a beer. "He's just a hallucination."

"Maybe Lucifer can't hurt Sam, but Sam can hurt himself," Dean said, voicing his deepest fear. "Lucifer could talk him into anything. He's all alone out there."

Bobby blanched as he considered the possibility. "No," he said finally. "I don't believe that. Sam's not so stupid as to hurt himself."

Dean didn't share the same faith.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam was tired. Beyond tired. He was exhausted. They had been on the road for two weeks of constant hunting. It seemed wherever they stopped, there was a case to work. It was odd as usually they had to cross country between jobs, but it was like they were laying themselves out for them. Dean feigned disinterest whenever Sam brought this up, but Sam was worried. What if they were somehow drawing the creatures along with them?

Strangely, the one creature they didn't come into contact with was the Leviathans, and they were the creatures Sam most wanted to see again. He wasn't stupid. He knew they were dangerous, but so far they had zero intel on how to stop them and that wouldn't change unless they came up against them again.

Another thing that troubled Sam was Bobby. They hadn't heard from him since the phone call in which he and Dean decided to stay apart. Though Sam sometimes saw Dean toying with his phone, he had seen no evidence that Bobby had called or vice versa. Sam tried to talk about it, but Dean cut him off every time.

Dean… there was no denying it now; there was something very wrong with him. He was more irritable than Sam had ever known him—even worse than he had been after their father's death—and his only target was Sam. He constantly berated Sam for his failings in life, and Sam soon grew tired of trying to defend himself. There was plenty that was his fault—the apocalypse for one—but the things Dean targeted were out of Sam's control. Such as the fact Lucifer had an access all areas pass to Sam's brain.

Sam hadn't seen Lucifer again since the warehouse, but his dreams were riddled with memories of hell. Night after night, he was forced to relieve a highlight reel of his time in the cage. Lucifer was bad enough to remember, but Sam had always known he was evil. Michael on the other hand was supposed to be good, but some of things he had done to Sam were so much worse. It proved Dean's theory that all angels were dicks.

"Hey, Apocalypse Now, you listening to me?" Dean's voice broke into Sam's thoughts, and he looked up from the gun he was cleaning.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you should be. While you were having a chat with Satan, I found us another case."

Sam sighed heavily. "I wasn't talking to Lucifer. I told you, he's not here anymore. I was just lost in thought."

Dean looked doubtful. "If you say so. Anyway, the case. Do you want to hear about it or are you too lost in thought to think of the people we could be saving?"

"I'm listening," Sam said, though he would rather be doing anything but. What he desperately wanted, no needed, was to take a couple of days to rest. He was down to his last vestiges of energy and that was no way to go into a fight.

"We have missing persons in Carson City. They were all last seen in the warehouse district."

"That could be anything," Sam said reasonably. "A human crime even."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Thank God I have The Great Sam Winchester with me. I didn't think of that. Oh, wait. I did! If you had kept your pie hole shut and listened, you would have heard the supernatural part."

Sam bit back his irritation at being spoken to like this and gestured for Dean to continue.

"They all show up a week or so later, drained of blood."

"You're thinking vampires?"

"Nope. No bite marks. I'm thinking we have ourselves another djinn."

Sam groaned and raked a hand over his face. Djinns were dangerous, too dangerous to be going after when your head wasn't fully in the game.

"Something wrong?" Dean asked. His tone told Sam that he didn't care one way or another for the answer.

"I'm just really tired," Sam admitted.

"You're not the only one," Dean said. "You keep me up all night too with your freaky dreams."

"Maybe we should get two rooms next time," Sam suggested.

"We can't afford two rooms. In case you've forgotten, you crapped out the last time you went hustling."

"I couldn't get anyone into a game," Sam said defensively. "Maybe if you'd have come along, we would have had more luck."

"Maybe if you weren't so damn pathetic you could have done your job." Dean pushed himself off of the bed and stalked towards Sam. "Maybe if you could just put your shit behind you for five minutes, we could both get on with our jobs. In case you haven't noticed, I'm the one that has been taking the fall for you lately."

Sam couldn't deny it. Every case they worked these days ended up with Dean getting hurt some way or another and Sam being forced to deal with the threat alone. Dean had been knocked out so many times, Sam was starting to worry there would be permanent damage. Maybe that accounted for his moodiness.

"So, oh great hallucinating one, are we hunting a djinn?" Dean asked.

Forcing back his exhaustion, Sam nodded. "Sure."

"The knife, Dean," Sam choked out through his constricted windpipe.

"Coming," Dean called in a falsetto voice. "Don't get your panties in a bunch."

If Sam was able to think about anything but his present predicament, he would have been hurt by Dean's supreme lack of concern as the djinn choked the life out of him. As it was, his attention was fixed solely on the creature pinning him to the wall by the throat. The one good thing about the situation was that the djinn didn't seem to want Sam's blood; he was happy to take his life. It gave them more time to take it out. If Sam had been dosed with poison, it would have been over too soon. Besides, it wasn't as if every djinn induced delusion was a good one like the apple pie life Dean had experienced. The second time he had been faced with a djinn, Dean had seen Yellow Eyes. It didn't take much to work out what Sam would see. Lucifer. Again.

Dean appeared around the corner, brandishing a silver knife. "Here you go, buddy," he said, as he thrust the knife into the djinn's back.

Sam waited for the djinn to fall, but if anything its grip tightened. Sam felt his vision darkening, and he bucked against the wall. His movement dislodged the djinn's grip on him. Gasping for breath, he reached for his fallen knife. As the djinn came at him again, he thrust upward with his blade, forcing the knife into its gut.

Sam leaned back against the wall, massaging his bruised neck and drawing in deep wheezing breaths. "The blood, Dean. You forgot the lamb's blood."

Dean looked down at his knife. "I guess I did. Easy mistake to make."

Sam's mind reeled. Was it a mistake or had Dean intentionally left him in danger? Could he be trying to get Sam killed? Sam brushed off the notion as quickly as it had come. Dean may be acting like an ass lately, but he would never intentionally hurt Sam. He had dedicated his life to protecting him.

"How's the throat?" Dean asked.

"Fine," Sam croaked. "I'll be good in no time."

"Excellent." Dean bent down and tugged the knife out of the djinn's stomach. "Let's get out of here."

Dean cast the corpse of the djinn a scathing look and then strolled out of the warehouse. Sam shouldered the duffel of weapons and followed.

Sam was dead on his feet by the time they arrived back at the motel.

"Go shower your reeking ass," Dean instructed as they stepped over the threshold.

Sam sniffed at his clothes. He did stink. The warehouse had been grungy, and the djinn didn't embrace personal hygiene. He crossed the room and grabbed clean clothes. Locking the bathroom door behind him, Sam rested his head against the wood for a moment, glad of the temporary distance from his brother.

He set the shower running and pulled off his dirty clothes, tossing them onto the floor. He stepped in front of the small mirror and examined his appearance. The gore marks he had got from the werewolf were healed, leaving pink scars behind. The bruises he had on his ribs from a recent vengeful spirit hunt were yellow and fading. His newest acquisition—the reddened and bruising skin around his throat—was the most prominent feature. Cursing inwardly with pain, Sam stepped into the hot stream of water and closed his eyes.

Sam was just dressing himself when there was a pounding on the door.

"You about done in there?" Dean's tone told Sam that another verbal beating was about to take place.

"Just a minute," Sam said tiredly, almost wishing he could stay in the bathroom forever or at least until Dean fell asleep. He unlocked the door and stepped out into their room.

"About damn time," Dean said. "You were in there forever."

Sam's eyes were downcast. "I'm sorry. I guess I lost track of time."

"Yeah, whatever. I'm hungry."

"You want me to go get something?" Sam asked.

"Nah. I'll come along. It will be good to eat off a plate for a change."

Sam was surprised. Dean hadn't wanted to go out to eat for weeks. Hoping this portended a change in mood, Sam pulled on his coat and grabbed his wallet.

A couple of blocks away from the motel was a diner, and Sam and Dean headed there on foot. They didn't talk as they walked. Sam was wary of inciting Dean's cruel words, and Dean seemed lost in thought.

When they reached the diner, Sam took a corner table while Dean headed into the bathroom, bitching under his breath about Sam taking too long in the shower and citing the fact he had needs too.

"Hey there," a gum popping waitress greeted Sam. "What can I get for you?"

Sam perused the menu. He was going to ditch his usual healthy habits and go for a burger for a change. He felt like he would collapse if he didn't get a fast calorie intake.

"Two bacon cheeseburgers and fries please," he requested, "and two coffees."

"Two?" the waitress questioned, looking at the empty seat opposite Sam.

"Yeah, my brother has just gone to the bathroom."

"Okay," she said slowly. "Well, I'll just get that for you."

She disappeared and came back with two cups of coffee. Sam nodded his gratitude and sipped at his cup, feeling the caffeine seep into his bloodstream.

Dean came out of the bathroom and slid into the seat opposite Sam. "You ordered?" he asked.

"Yeah. I got you a burger. Hope that's okay."

Dean shrugged. "Too late if it isn't."

"We can change your order if you like," Sam said, cursing himself for not waiting for Dean before ordering. He thought a burger was a safe bet for his brother. It was his staple diet after all.

"No, don't bother."

Something caught Sam's attention. The waitress was at the counter casting him wary glances as she spoke to the cook.

"Looks like you've got an admirer," Dean said, watching the waitress. "Poor girl."

Sam's gaze drifted from the waitress to his brother. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing," Dean muttered and flashed the waitress a dazzling smile.

"No, you've obviously got something to say." Sam was getting angry.

"Well, I was just going to point out that women that get involved with you usually get hurt."

Sam was about to answer, but the waitress's arrival cut him off. She shifted from foot to foot awkwardly. "Your order's ready."

"Great, I'm starving," Dean said, patting his gut. "Where is it?"

"And I was wondering whether your brother is okay."

Sam looked at Dean who was openly checking the waitress out.

"He's fine." Sam kicked Dean's ankle under the table. "He's just friendly is all."

Dean chuckled and rolled his eyes. "I'm more than friendly, sugar. Give me a chance, and I will show you just how nice I can be."

The waitress ignored Dean completely. "It's just, it's been a while…"

Dean snorted. "You and me both. I've been lugging my mentally incapacitated brother around. Doesn't leave much time for a social life. Let's do something about that, shall we?"

Sam frowned at the table. "I'm sorry about him," he said quietly. "He doesn't mean it."

The waitress looked even more confused. "So, do you want me to bring your meal or do you want to wait for your brother?"

Sam's brow furrowed with confusion. "Wait for him to what?"

"Get back," she said as if stating something very obvious to someone very stupid.

"From where?"

"Yeah, from where?" Dean asked with a wide smile. "I'm right here. Isn't that right, Sam?"

The waitress glanced back at the counter, and the cook shook his head. They were now drawing attention from the other patrons. A man with dark hair dropped a couple of bills down on his table and exited at a fast walk.

"Look, I think you better just leave," she said, taking a step back from the table. "The coffee's on the house, as long as you leave."

"Aww, honey, you don't mean that," Dean said. "If we leave, we can't continue this fascinating conversation. Sam is all confused, and that's something I always enjoy seeing."

Sam pushed himself away from the table and got to his feet. He was mortified that Dean's behavior had gotten them kicked out of a diner. They had reached a new low today. He dropped a bill down on the table to pay for the coffees and pulled on his jacket.

"C'mon, Dean. Let's get out of here," he said, pulling on his brother's arm when he didn't move.

"Okay, okay." Dean got to his feet and leered at the waitress. "You don't know what you're missing."

"Dean!"

Sam strode from the diner and down the street, his cheeks blazing with embarrassment. He couldn't believe what had just happened.

"Sam! Sam Winchester!" a voice called behind him.

He was confused as it wasn't Dean's voice. He spun on his heel and saw the dark-haired man from the diner jogging down the street toward him. Dean was nowhere in sight, and Sam realized that he was probably still in the diner, chatting up the waitress.

"It is Sam, right?" The man asked.

Sam nodded. "Do I know you?"

The man shrugged. "In a manner of speaking. We have a mutual friend, Bobby Singer."

"Bobby!" Sam felt a wave of fear sweep through him. "Is he okay?"

"Last I heard, he was fine. Worried sick about you though. With good reason, apparently." He gave Sam a rueful look. "What the hell happened in there?"

Sam pushed his hair back from his eyes. "Honestly, my brother was being a dick. He was flirting pretty hard with the waitress and she took offence."

"You brother Dean, right?" the man questioned.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. He's a good guy. He just gets carried away."

"Yeah, I know how that can be." The man seemed wary of Sam. "My name's Mackey, and like I said, I'm a friend of Bobby's. He's looking for you, and he's pretty darn worried."

"Bobby's looking for us?" Sam asked. "But Dean said we had to keep our distance."

"All I know's that Bobby's been on the blower to every hunter he knows searching for news of you. It's pure coincidence that I caught up with you. I was on a hunt for a djinn when I stopped for something to eat."

"The djinn is dead," Sam said. "Dean and I took care of it."

"Is that right," the man said, rubbing his jaw. "And you took care of the body?"

Sam was brought up short. He had completely overlooked that little detail. Dean had been in such a hurry to get out of there it had distracted him.

"Dammit," he cursed.

"I guess that's a no," Mackey said. "No worries. You give me the address, and I'll go take care of it."

Sam recited the warehouse address and thanked Mackey enthusiastically. "I can't believe we didn't get rid of the body," he said to himself. "We're not usually so inept."

"No worries," Mackey said. "I know you're good. Your reputation precedes you."

Sam smiled. "Thanks."

"Look, I've got to get out of here. There's apparently a djinn that needs taking care of. Do me a favor, call Bobby up and let him know you are okay. The man's running himself ragged looking for you."

"Absolutely," Sam said. "We'll call."

Mackey frowned, but extended a hand for Sam to shake. "It's been good meeting you."

"You too."

Sam watched Mackey disappear around the corner, and he exhaled in a rush. He knew he should go back to the diner and drag Dean out, but something held him back. Bobby was worried about them, and Sam wanted to call him, but he doubted Dean would like it. If he could get back to the motel first, he would be able to put a call in without Dean's interference.

With fast footsteps, he headed back to the motel.

Bobby looked up from his episode of Tierra de Pasiones when his cell phone began to ring. Dean's gaze moved lazily from the book he was pretending to read to look at Bobby.

"Sam?" he asked hopefully.

Bobby shook his head. "Afraid not."

Bobby was worried about both of the boys. Sam was out on his own, with Lucifer whispering to him, and Dean was quickly losing himself to his worry. Bobby knew the only thing stopping Dean from scouring the country for a sign on his brother was his busted leg, and there was only a week till that cast would come off. Bobby feared that the moment that cast was gone, Dean would disappear from his life as completely as Sam had. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but Sam's absence made him want to hold on to Dean that much harder.

"Well, are you going to answer that?" Dean asked.

Bobby nodded and answered the phone with his usual gruff. "Bobby Singer."

Dean didn't pay much attention to Bobby's call until the older hunter leapt to his feet.

"You did? Where?"

Dean twisted in his seat, and his gaze followed Bobby as he paced.

"Rochdale. Never heard of it. How'd he look?"

"Sam?" Dean's heart leapt at the possibility.

Bobby nodded, a wide smile on his face. Dean held out his hand for the phone and Bobby paused. "Hold on, I'm going to put you on speaker."

Dean's heart beat out a staccato pace against his ribs. "This is Dean. Have you seen Sam?"

"Hey, Dean. The name's Mackey. And yes, I've seen your brother. In fact, I just finished cleaning up after him."

"How is he?" Dean demanded.

There was a heavy silence before Mackey spoke. "He's not looking so good. Physically, he's pretty beat up looking. Mentally, it's another story. The boy is cuckoo's nest. He was having a conversation with someone that wasn't there in the diner. Caused a scene and had to be asked to leave."

Dean's eyes stung. Lucifer was apparently still riding shotgun in Sam's brain. He had hoped for better news. It also hurt to think of Sam as physically 'beat up'.

"What do you mean you've been clearing up his mess?" Bobby asked. "You mean the diner?"

"No, I'm talking about the djinn he took out. Did a good job of it, but he forgot to deal with the body."

It felt like a lead weight had dropped into Dean's stomach. "Sam is hunting!"

In all the times he had thought of Sam out there alone, he had never thought of Sam hunting. He thought, foolishly, that Sam would be holed up in a motel somewhere talking to the voices in his head. The idea of Sam hunting along with everything else he was dealing with was scary. He could get hurt, or worse.

"Apparently," Mackey said. "We didn't exactly exchange war stories. He was pretty agitated when I said you were looking for him. He said he'd call. Well, actually, he said we."

"If he's calling, we better keep the line clear," Bobby said. "Thanks for the heads up, Mackey. And thanks for talking to him. We really appreciate it."

"Anytime. You guys take care. And let me know what happens. Nothing like an unfinished story to keep you up at night."

Bobby hung up the phone and raked a hand over his face. "I guess this is good news," he said eventually. "Dean, are you with me?"

Dean was staring blankly into space. With effort, he raised his eyes to meet Bobby's. "Yeah, I'm just thinking."

"You and me both, son. At least we know he's okay." He didn't voice the thought they shared: at least he was alive. "That's more than we have had so far. And we know where he is. Rochdale, Nevada."

Dean eased himself to the edge of the chair, pulling a map towards him. "That's not even a day's drive away. If we leave now, we can make it there tomorrow afternoon."

Bobby nodded. "That peg-leg of yours up for a drive?"

"No need," Dean said. "It's only a week early. I can get it off."

Bobby opened his mouth to argue, but he realized it would be pointless. Once Dean set his mind to something, there was no talking him out of it. "I'll get the saw." He tossed Dean the phone. "You be ready to talk to that brother of yours."

Dean grinned as he caught the phone. Any minute he could finally be talking to his brother. He'd had a thousand conversations with Sam in his head since he had disappeared. He had begged him to return, had berated him for leaving in the first place, and cussed him out for making him worry. It would be good to finally have the conversation he had spent three weeks preparing for.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam had been driving for almost four hours. He hadn't had the chance to call Bobby, as Dean had somehow beaten him back to the motel and had been waiting, bags packed, at the Impala.

"We're leaving," he had said abruptly as Sam came into sight, and then he had climbed into the car and waited impatiently for Sam to do the same. Despite the fact he was exhausted, starving, and needing nothing more than a soft bed for the night, he had got in behind the wheel and gunned the engine. Now they were travelling down a California highway, taking turns as Dean instructed.

Sam felt a knot of disquiet in his gut as he spotted the road sign. "Palo Alto?"

Dean lifted his head from the window and looked at Sam through bleary eyes. "Of course. Where did you think we were going?"

Sam didn't know. He had grown accustomed to going as and where Dean instructed. It seemed now that Dean had a goal in mind, and it wasn't one Sam wanted to revisit.

"Why are we here?"

"There is a potential hunt on campus," Dean said. "A coven of witches. Lives to save and all that."

Sam gulped. "We're going to Stanford."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Unless you have a problem with it. I know you've got baggage here, but I thought you might be able to get over that long enough to do your job."

Sam didn't want to go anywhere near Stanford. In fact, he didn't even want to be in California. He wanted to turn the car around and drive somewhere else, anywhere else, as long as it put a healthy distance between himself and this mess of memories. But he couldn't do that. Dean was right; there were people here to save. And that was their job. Forcing down his emotional chaos, Sam put the pedal to the metal and increased their speed. The sooner they were there, the sooner they could leave.

"I'm sure you remember the area well enough to find us a motel," Dean said with a yawn.

Sam nodded. "I remember." He remembered too much about the place. That was the problem.

"Good. You find us somewhere to stay, and I will finish my sleep. Got to take the Zs while I can get them. It's not like I get any sleep sharing a room with you."

For what felt like the hundredth time, Sam apologized. He knew his nightmares were a problem for more than just him, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. The nightmares came every night, and he could hardly stop himself from calling out when he was being skinned alive by Lucifer and Michael. For brothers that hated each other, they made one hell of a tag team.

Dean's snores were the only response to Sam apology. Sam turned the radio off, not wanting to disturb his brother while he was getting the sleep he apparently needed. He himself was looking forward to getting to a motel, whatever the location, so he could finally sleep. He was dead on his feet. He pulled the car to a stop in front of the Easy Sleeper motel on the outskirts of town and climbed out, careful not to slam the car door.

The clerk gave him an assessing look as he entered the lobby. "Can I help you?" he asked warily.

"I need a room," Sam said hoarsely. He still hadn't fully recovered from his encounter with the djinn. "Twin please."

The clerk looked out of the window at the Impala and shrugged. "Okay."

Sam wondered at the man's tone. Why did people always assume they were a couple? Was it so unusual for brother's to road trip together? Shrugging off the question, Sam pulled a pile of bills out of his pocket and laid them on the counter.

"Here you go," the clerk said, holding out a room key. "It's room seven. Just around the corner."

Sam mumbled his thanks and made his way back out to the car. He parked them in front of their room and nudged Dean's shoulder gently to wake him.

"Dammit, Sam," Dean moaned. "I was having a good dream."

"Sorry, but we're here."

Dean looked blearily at the motel façade. "I guess this will do." He threw open his door and tapped his foot impatiently as Sam got their bags from the trunk and unlocked the door for them. Dean pushed past him and flopped down on the bed closest to the door. "Wake me if you start another apocalypse," he said as his eyes fell closed.

Sam's hands fisted at his sides. He was tired, hungry, and in pain. He didn't need his brother throwing his failings at him again. He opened his mouth, ready to finally let loose at his brother, but Dean opened one eye and grinned at him.

"Something you want to say, Sam?"

"No," Sam muttered as he flopped back on the bed. "Nothing at all."

Calling himself a coward, Sam toed off his boots and curled up in the middle of the bed. There was plenty he wanted to say to his brother, but nothing that he would.

xXx

Sam was woken the next morning by a loud voice butchering Stairway To Heaven in the bathroom. He cracked open his eyes and checked the time. It was noon. He couldn't believe that he had slept so long; moreover, he couldn't believe Dean had let him sleep so long.

He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his stubbly jaw. He felt better for a good night's sleep, though he was starving. He looked at the closed bathroom door and wondered what version of his brother he was dealing with today. The singing was a good sign, but he wasn't about to get his hopes up.

He pulled his duffel over and pulled out a clean set of clothes. They would need to make a stop at a Laundromat soon; he was running low on clean clothes, and if he was, Dean was, too.

"Afternoon," Dean said pointedly as he came back into the room.

Sam looked down. It seemed he was dealing with the surly version of his brother after all. He picked up his clothes and made his way to the bathroom.

"Not so fast," Dean called after him. "I'm heading out, and I want to talk to you first."

Sam paused with his hand of the door and braced himself for another tirade about him keeping Dean awake with his nightmares. It didn't come, however. When Dean spoke, he sounded almost like himself.

"So, Sam, I'm going to check out the potential witches today."

"Okay. Give me a minute to clean up, and I'll come with you."

"There's no need for that." Dean smiled. "I figured you'd want to take the day off to visit with some old friends."

"Dean, I have no friends here anymore. They've all graduated by now. Besides, I haven't kept contact with any of them."

Dean smiled, and there was something in that smile that alarmed Sam. "Come on, Sam. They've not all left. Someone is still here."

Sam palms were sweaty. "Who?"

"Jess, of course. Are you telling me you hadn't even thought about going to see her while we're here?"

Sam had been doing all he could not to think about Jess since they crossed the state line. Did he want to see her? That was an easy yes. Did he think he could bear to stand at her grave again and talk to cold marble? That was a little more complicated.

"C'mon, Sam. You want to see her, right?"

Sam nodded mutely. He didn't think he could articulate his concerns, even if he thought Dean would listen.

"That's settled then. You go see her, and I will go check out the campus wiccans."

Dean pulled on his jacket and bent to tie his boots. "Say hi to her for me, okay?"

Sam didn't answer. He didn't know how to respond to that.

He pushed his way into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. He examined his face in the mirror above the sink and was not surprised to see his eyes were wide and wild looking. Raking a hand through his hair, he muttered encouragement to himself. He could do this. He needed to. If nothing else, it would satisfy Dean. He showered and dressed on auto-pilot, thinking only of what he was about to do. Dean was gone by the time he got back into the room. Sam was relieved to have the room to himself. The Impala was still parked out front which was odd. Sam had expected Dean to take it with him to the campus. It was a fair walk from their motel. It was a longer walk to the cemetery, however, and Sam thought Dean was being unexpectedly kind to leave him the car.

The drive to the cemetery didn't take long, and soon Sam was standing at the gates, bracing himself before he stepped through.

A lot had changed since he was last here. He had come shortly after Jess's funeral to say goodbye to her before he and Dean hit the road together. A lifetime had passed between that moment and this. There had been other loves, other losses, and a trip to hell to endure. He wasn't the same person he had been then. Then, he had been a boy in a man's body, aware of the horrors that lurked in the darkness, but not really at one with them. Now, he was a man with intimate knowledge of the real world and with a surfeit of mistakes and failures behind him. Drawing strength from the knowledge, he stepped through the gates and walked in the direction of Jess's grave.

As he came within sight of the bronze marble headstone, he faltered for a second before pushing himself to keep putting one foot in front of the other. He came to a stop and looked down at the gold lettering etching out her name.

"Hey," he said softly. "It's me."

He paused as if expecting a response, but of course none came. He wasn't speaking to Jess, not really, he was speaking to himself. Saying the things he needed to say.

"I'm sorry it's been so long. I should have come sooner. I'm not sure how it works for you. I've had a sneak peek of heaven, but we never dealt with the whats and wheres. Not really. I wonder if you know all I have done since I lost you. There is some stuff in there that should make you proud, but there is plenty that I hope you haven't seen."

He drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. His eyes pricked with tears, and he let them fall.

"I'm sorry for what happened to you, Jess. It's all my fault. You were destined to die from the minute I met you."

Tears fell freely from his eyes now as he thought back to that time. It was an easier time, a happier time, but it was also a lie. He had been pretending to be normal when all along he was the freak of the century with demon blood running through his veins.

Sam had once asked Jess what he would do without her. Her response had been that he would crash and burn. She was partially right; he had crashed and burned multiple times since that day, but he had come through it all. Nothing had been able to keep him down forever. Not even the cage.

"I'm struggling right now, Jess," he said. "I'm really struggling. There is something wrong with Dean, or maybe it's me. Whatever it is, we don't work right anymore. I think he's going to leave me behind."

That thought scared Sam more than any other. He couldn't be alone now. Not with Lucifer constantly on the edges of his mind and a head full of Hell. He would take whatever abuse Dean deigned to deal out as long as he stayed.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted.

If Sam expected some answer to occur to him in that moment, he was disappointed. Nothing came to him, and he suspected nothing ever would.

Suddenly feeling uncomfortable there, talking to nothing, Sam laid a hand on Jess's headstone and then turned and walked away.

If Dean intended to make Sam feel worse by encouraging him to visit Jess's grave, he had succeeded. Sam felt like crap as he slid behind the wheel of the Impala. Despite the fact he had overslept that morning, he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and hide away. He wondered if Dean would be there when he got to the motel. Secretly, he hoped not.

Unfortunately, Dean was there when he got back to the motel. He was sitting on the bed with Sam's laptop open on his lap. He looked up as Sam walked in and frowned.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked callously.

Sam stopped dead in his tracks. He couldn't believe Dean was asking that, knowing where he had just been.

Dean snapped the laptop closed and pushed it onto the bed. "Did something happen?"

Sam raked a hand through his hair. "No. I'm fine. How did it go on campus?"

"It was a dead end. Wiccans on campus translated to hippy chicks with a spice rack. Still, I got a couple of numbers in case we hang around town. So, now are you going to tell me what's wrong with you?"

"It's just…" Sam trailed off. "It was a hard day is all."

"Oh right," Dean rolled his eyes, "Jess. It's been a while since you bummed me out with that particular failure."

Sam's gaze snapped up to his brother's, and his expression tightened. He knew it was his fault, but this was the first time Dean had acknowledged it, too. Ordinarily, Dean would be the one arguing against Sam's belief, telling him it wasn't his fault and that nothing could have been done to save her.

"Come on, man. You have to know it's the truth," Dean said. "You were the one with the freaky visions. You should have warned her."

Sam swallowed the lump in his throat. "I know that."

Dean smiled. "As long as we're on the same page. For the record, if you have any freaky dreams about my imminent demise, tell me about them."

"You know that's not going to happen," Sam said. "I haven't had any visions since Yellow Eyes died."

Dean snorted. "And you know that should reassure me, but it doesn't. You have so much screwed up in your grapefruit lately, I wouldn't be surprised if they came back to haunt us, too."

Closing his eyes for a moment to marshal himself, Sam nodded. "You may be right."

"Of course I am," Dean said. "I'm the big brother. Just keep me informed, okay? Come to think of it, we might want to start keeping some kind of list of all the crazy you have going on. It might help us keep track, because God knows there is enough of it."

Sam was mortified to feel tears spring to his eyes. He turned away from Dean, under the pretence of dropping onto the bed, and thumbed them away.

"Are you crying?" Dean asked incredulously. "Seriously, dude. When did you become a woman?"

"I'm not crying," Sam lied.

Dean laughed bitterly. "Sure you're not. And I'm not calling those hippies for a hook-up."

"Are we staying in town then?" Sam had hoped now the hunt was a bust they could get out of the way, out of the state if they could manage it.

Dean eyed him warily. "I was thinking we could hang around a while, but if you're going to be a bitch about it, we can get out of town early. I have a new case for us anyway."

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"The what is unimportant. What matters is there where." Dean grinned. "Kansas. Sam, my boy, we're going home!"

xXx

Bobby and Dean waited for the call, but it never came. Something or someone had stopped Sam from calling them, and they didn't know which was worse.

Dean's cast was off, and he was able to sit shotgun as Bobby steered them towards Nebraska.

When they arrived in Rochdale, they found the motel Sam had been staying in. The clerk was able to confirm that he had stayed there, but he had left two days before.

"Big guy," he confirmed. "Looked like he had been through a lot. Had a case of the crazy eyes."

Dean had to bite back the urge to punch the clerk for talking about Sam with such derision. If this man had even an inkling of what Sam had been through, was still going through, he would never have spoken about him like that.

Oblivious to just how close he was coming to a broken nose, the clerk continued. "He booked a twin room, but I only ever saw him."

Bobby thanked the man, and he booked a room for him and Dean. They had driven straight through the night, and they were both exhausted.

They let themselves into the room and dropped their bags down on the beds. Dean sank onto the small couch and hid his face in his hands. Bobby squeezed his shoulder.

"We know he's okay," he comforted. "That has to count for something."

"He was okay," Dean said with emphasis. "If you count a case of the crazy eyes as okay."

"That idiot didn't know what he was talking about," Bobby said. "Pay him no attention."

"You heard what he said, Bobby. He booked a twin room. That bastard Lucifer has him thinking he's still with me. He's running around the country, hunting, with a hallucination. It doesn't get much more dangerous than that."

"He's not a child, Dean," Bobby chided. "He can handle himself."

Dean closed his eyes and waited for the surge of anger to pass. It wasn't Bobby's fault. He just didn't understand how things were. Sam needed Dean to take care of him. It was the way it always had been and always would be.

"How about you check the GPS again," Bobby suggested. "You never know, he may have his phone turned on again."

Dutifully, Dean pulled the new laptop out of his bag and booted it up. He waited as for the slow motel internet to connect, and then he opened the page for Sam's cell phone provider. Typing in the now familiar details, Dean waited for it to come back with the usual 'unavailable' response. It didn't come. Instead, a map with a flashing icon came onto the screen.

"It's on!" he gasped, drawing Bobby to his side. "He's turned it on!"

"Where is he?" Bobby asked.

"Rock Ridge, Colorado."

"Colorado, what's he doing there?"

Dean's mind was already working well ahead of Bobby's. He knew his brother better than anyone, and therefore, he knew where he was going.

"He's going to Lawrence. He's going home."


	7. Chapter 7

Dean could be unkind at times, he could even be cruel, but Dean could never willingly go back to Lawrence, and definitely not with such glee. He was positively rapturous about it. Sam had his worries before, but now he knew for sure something was wrong with his brother. But he didn't know what. He knew he had to do something, and he couldn't do it alone. He needed help. And for that, he needed Bobby. He got as far as putting the phone's battery in and turning it on before Dean got out of the bathroom. He quickly silenced it and shoved it in his pocket, planning to make the call the next time they stopped on the road for a bathroom break.

"You ready?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded reluctantly. He wasn't ready to go anywhere. He wanted food. He wanted sleep. He definitely did not want to travel two thousand miles with this new Dean. He loaded the trunk with their bags and checked them out of the motel while Dean sat in the passenger seat singing along with Led Zeppelin on the radio. Of all the negative thoughts Sam had about going on this road trip, the one positive he could cling to was that he would at least be getting out of California and away from the memories the place held.

"If we shag ass, we can get into Utah before we need to stop," Dean said.

Sam nodded again and slid in behind the wheel. He pumped the gas, and soon they were pulling out of the parking lot and back out onto the road.

Sam had thought when he left California that he was leaving the bad behind, but he hadn't taken into account the triggers that Lawrence held. Along with thoughts of his mother and her grisly death, Sam had to contend with memories of the last time he had been here as Lucifer's meat suit. He remembered every moment of that time, every punch he had landed on Dean, seeing Castiel blown up into a mist of blood, the snapping sound Bobby's neck had made as Lucifer twisted his hand and broke it, and the cage. Always the cage. This was the place he had taken that dive, and his brain seemed determined to remind him of that fact. Flashes of the cage were forcing themselves upon him in a near constant slideshow of blood, pain, and torment. He actually had to pull the car over at one point as the road in front of him had transformed into a river of blood.

Dean had been less than amused when he was suddenly sent flying toward the windshield and hadn't accepted Sam's apologies with any grace, despite the fact Sam explained what had happened.

"Nothing's changed. This place is like a time warp." Dean was staring out the window as Sam steered the Impala through the small town of Lawrence. "Don't you think it's weird that nothing's changed?" Dean asked.

Sam didn't answer. He didn't want to think about the unchanging nature of the town. He was focused on not losing it completely. He pulled into the parking lot of the Lawrence Lodge motel and cut the engine, resting his head against the steering wheel for a moment as the memories of hell surged.

"C'mon, Sam. You can't deny it feels good to be home."

Sam turned incredulous eyes on his brother. "Home. Since when do you call Lawrence home? Since when do you call anyplace home?"

Dean shrugged. "Since now. Anyway, it's different for me. I actually had a home here for four years before everything went to shit. I was an only child for four years before you came along."

Sam threw open the car door and marched into the motel lobby. He needed to put as much distance between himself and his brother as was possible before he lost his ability to control his anger. This Dean wasn't just different; he was a dick.

"King?" The clerk asked.

"Twin please," Sam said, though in truth he would prefer to get separate rooms altogether.

He paid and strode out of the door again. Dean was sitting on the hood of the car. As Sam approached, he looked up and smiled widely.

"You got us a room?" he questioned, and Sam nodded. "Awesome. Let's dump our bags and we can get out of here."

In what was fast becoming routine, Sam got their bags from the trunk and let them into the room while Dean thumped down on the bed and flicked on the TV.

Sam dropped the bags on the floor and curled up on the bed with his back to his brother. The flashes of the cage were coming thick and fast, and Sam was losing the strength to fight them off. He burrowed his head into the pillow and put his hands over his head.

"What's wrong with you?" Dean asked, sounding only mildly interested in the answer.

"The cage." Sam gritted his teeth. "I'm remembering the cage."

"Oh. Well, that sucks."

Sam heard the bedsprings creak as Dean changed position. "You want something?"

"No, thanks," Sam mumbled, burying his face deeper into the pillow.

He couldn't say what he was really thinking, that what he wanted was the brother back that would care that Sam was suffering like this, the brother that cared about Sam. That brother was apparently gone, and Sam was dealing with the dick version that got left behind.

"Okay, then. I'm going to get some food," Dean announced. "You want anything?"

"No." Food was the last thing on Sam's mind.

Sam heard the door squeak and slam, and at last, he was alone. Lifting his head from the pillow, he wiped away the tears that were falling. His head pounded and his vision blurred as another flash of hell was forced upon his mind.

All he wanted was his brother, as he didn't think he could go on like that much longer.

Sam was pulled from sleep by the sound of the door flying open. He looked up in time to see Dean stumble into the room. He reeked of liquor and his clothes were disheveled. He had clearly found more than a drink in whatever bar he had patronized.

"Sam!" he slurred. "You have a good nap?"

Sam sat up and rested his back against the headboard. "No. It was quite literally hell." He had been bombarded by nightmares of his time in the cage.

Dean grinned. "Welcome to my life."

"Your life is hell?" Sam asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Yep. Or as close as you can get it without the hooks and chains. Lord knows I'm suffering."

Sam surveyed his brother.. wWondering where this was heading. Sure their life wasn't great, but it wasn't that bad. If anyone was living in hell, it was Sam. He was the one that had bombarded with memories of the cage for the last twelve hours.

"What's wrong with you, Dean?"

"With me? That's a long list, Sam. You sure you want to hear it?"

Sam didn't think he wanted to hear anything that was about to come from his brother's mouth, but he also knew he needed to hear it. If he was ever going to get to the root of this new, unpleasant Dean, he had to know what had changed.

"I want to know," he said defiantly.

Dean tugged on Sam's arm. "If we're going to do this, we need some visual aids. C'mon, we're going for a drive."

Sam got to his feet and snatched up the keys from the table. Even if it wasn't custom for him to drive everywhere these days, he wouldn't let Dean behind the wheel as intoxicated as he was. With leaden footsteps, he walked to the Impala and slid in behind the wheel.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"Take a left on Main Street and keep going east."

Dean flicked on the radio and amped up the volume making conversation impossible,. nNot that Sam felt like talking. He was sure that he would have enough to listen to soon enough.

He followed Dean's directions, knowing in his heart where they were going, though refusing to acknowledge it in his mind. When Dean pointed left at an intersection, his suspicions were confirmed. They were, quite literally, going home.

The Impala pulled to a halt opposite the small white house, and Sam cut the engine.

"What are we doing here?" Sam asked in a hoarse voice.

"Like I said, we needed some visual aids. You wanted to know what's wrong with me, and here it is. You are what's wrong with me. You and all your crap."

Sam felt his face growing hot, and to his horror, tears pricked at his eyes. He forced them back through sheer will power.

"You see, this was where it all started," Dean said. "I was a normal kid with a normal family. I had a mom and dad that loved me. Dad went out to work and mom stayed home. It was a good life, until you came along. At first it didn't seem so bad. Being a big brother was kinda cool, especially when you're a kid, but then he came. Yellow Eyes, Azazel, whatever you want to call him. He came and my perfect life was torn apart."

Sam winced. Every word Dean spoke pierced him like a dart. It was what he had always suspected Dean to be thinking. Having it confirmed was awful.

"My mum was killed," Dean continued remorselessly. "Eviscerated and burned alive. All because of you. Your nursery. Your demon. He was there for you, and she got in the way."

Sam nodded. "I know it."

Dean smiled his approval. "We're on the same page. Good to know. So, you agree that it's your fault she died?"

"Yes," Sam croaked. He had known it for a long time. "Because of me."

"All because of you," Dean agreed. "That demon came to feed you its blood, to make you one of the chosen ones. Dad thrust you into my arms, and that began the lifelong task of 'taking care of Sammy.' But I'm jumping ahead. If we're doing the Sam Winchester highlights reel, we have to do it in order. We have to look at the crap-storm of a life I was left with after mom died. You see, my perfect little life was torn apart when dad learned about demons. He got it into his head that he needed to hunt down the thing that had killed mom, and I was dragged along with him. I was four years old, dammit. I wasn't supposed to be living on the road. And let's not forget about you. I was saddled with a baby to take care of. I was barely more than a baby myself, but I had a job. I had to take care of you."

Sam didn't know what to say. How did you thank someone for giving up their childhood for you? It didn't seem like Dean wanted thanks. He was merely venting three decades of pent up anger. He deserved his release, so Sam stayed quiet and let him speak.

"Then there was Jess. Another epic fail of Sam Winchester. She was an innocent that you dragged into our mess. You were so determined to have a normal life, you sacrificed her. You knew it wasn't safe for her to be around you, but you didn't care."

Sam felt the tears raining down his cheeks. He could take whatever Dean had to throw at him, but to mention Jess, especially when the wounds were now open again, was too much for him to take stoically.

"So she died," Dean said. "Another death to lay at your doorstep. Just like mine. I admit this one was partly my own fault. I should have left you dead in Cold Oak, but you see, I was so brainwashed by that point that I had to protect you. I had no choice. I made the deal and it sent me to hell. Another failure on your part. You should have found a way to save me."

"I tried, Dean. I tried everything."

"You didn't try hard enough!" Dean snapped. "Four decades I was down there, on the rack and then standing over it. Because of you, I became the torturer. I tied souls down and hurt them again and again, all because of you."

Sam buried his face in his hands. He didn't care about feeling weak anymore. He was past caring about anything but the cruel truths his brother was throwing at him.

Dean took a deep calming breath and continued. "I got out—no thanks to you. Cas came and saved me and dragged me back to your side. But it wasn't all you I found, was it? No, my brother was almost gone by the time I got to him. You were a blood sucking monster, using the cursed powers Azazel had left you with to exorcise demons. How many people did you and Ruby kill as you trained your mind? Dozens? hundreds? Do you even know?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't know."

"See, you don't even care enough to remember how many you killed. You aren't human, Sam. Humans don't do things like that."

Sam knew he was right. In those early days with Ruby, every vessel they exorcised died. So many deaths on his account.

"Then came Lucifer," Dean said with satisfaction. "You killed Lilith, breaking the final seal and letting him out of the cage. How many more died because of that?"

"I didn't know," Sam said. "I thought I was avenging you."

"You can lie to yourself, but you can't lie to me. You went after Lilith for yourself. She was your big challenge. If you could defeat her, you were unstoppable. It was a test."

Sam didn't confirm or deny it. He didn't know whether what Dean said was right. All he knew was that at the time it had seemed so important to kill Lilith.

"So Lucifer was out of his box and rolling up the numbers in the Sam Winchester body count. Then came my favorite part. Your plan to put him back in. For once, I thought you were going to do something I could be proud of. Not to mention you would free me. But you couldn't control him. Lucifer took over, killed Cas and Bobby, and then beat me near to death."

"But I stopped him," Sam said defensively. "I forced him into the cage."

Dean tapped his chin. "That's true. You did. I guess we can call that a success if you like. It doesn't matter. It's about to be followed by another epic failure. You came back. Admittedly, that wasn't your fault. Cas is to blame for that. But you were brought back wrong, soulless and without a conscience. You blazed through the country, leaving devastation behind you. How many bodies did you rack up in that year with the Campbells?"

"I don't know," Sam whispered.

"Of course, you don't. Why would you bother to keep track? It's not like you cared."

"I did care. I mean, I do care. I had no control over what happened when I was like that. It wasn't me. Not really."

"Don't kid yourself, Sam. It was you. It was what you became without me to control your darkness. But you weren't without me long, were you? You had to come back and drag me back into the life. I was happy with Lisa and Ben. I finally had the normal life you stole away from me when I was four years old."

"I didn't want to drag you back," Sam said. "It was the djinn. You would have died."

"Okay, I'll allow that, but what about after? You didn't need me. You had the Campbells to hunt with,. tTheir lives to ruin, but you pulled me back in. You could have dealt with the shapeshifter kid alone, but no, you had to claw your way back into my life."

"I'm sorry," Sam moaned, tears now flowing freely down his face. "I never for any of this to happen."

"But it happened anyway," Dean said, and now his smile was wider than ever before. "I was back in the life. Back with you. The curse that has ruined my whole life."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Dean pushed open the car door and got out. Unthinkingly, Sam followed him. He approached him warily, half sure he was going to get a punch to the jaw. He would have welcomed it. Physical pain may offset the emotional agony he was experiencing.

"And here we are," Dean said, spreading his arms wide. "Back at the place it all started, my damned life and your cursed brain. So, what are we going to do, Sam? Do you even know?"

"I can go," Sam offered. "You can leave me behind and go have the life you need."

Dean's hands fisted at his sides. "If only it was that easy. As long as you live, I am going to be tied to you."

"It doesn't have to be like that. You don't ever have to see me again."

"No, no, no, Sam. It just isn't enough. If you really want me to be free, you know what you have to do."

Dean reached into his jacket and pulled out his .45. "One bullet, one shot, and I will be free."

Sam took an involuntary step back. "No!"

Dean's scowled. "Selfish. You know what I want, what I need, but you're too damn selfish to give it to me. C'mon, Sam. It's not like your life is up to much these days anyway. You've got Satan rolling around in your head and decade's worth of hell memories to keep you up at night. Tell me, what are you living for?"

The answer was easy. He was living for Dean. Just as he had been for years. When death would have been a release from the hell he was living in. All the times the thought had come to him, he had pushed it back with thoughts of his brother. His real brother. Not this monster that had taken his place.

And with that thought came realization.

"Lucifer!" he spat.

Dean threw back his head and laughed. The laugh was horribly familiar. It wasn't Dean's deep tones. It was the cold high laugh that had taunted him in the cage as he suffered through a new round of torture. "Ding! Ding! We have a winner!" he shouted. "It's about time. I thought you were the smart one." It was as if a heat haze was cast over Dean's form. He shimmered, and a second later, Lucifer was standing in front of him.

"The whole time?" Sam asked.

"Ever since the warehouse." Lucifer chuckled. "You have no idea how happy I was that you chose me. It was supposed to be a simple trick to get you to shoot your brother, but it ended up being so much more. I have really enjoyed this little road trip of ours."

Sam's mind reeled. All this time. How could he have been so stupid?

"Now, as fun as this has been, and it truly was, you have a job to do. You're going to reach into the trunk and pull out a gun. You will go into that house—it's empty by the way. I know you have been keeping track—and you will blow your brains out."

Sam breathed heavily. "I'm not doing that!"

"Of course you are," Lucifer said with a smile. "This is what you want. Everything I have done to you, everything I have said, is what you made happen. I am not real. I am a creation of your mind. And, Sam, your mind wants you to kill yourself."

Sam shook his head jerkily. "No. I don't want that."

"Oh, but, Sam, you really do."

With that Lucifer flickered and disappeared.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean held the phone to his ear and listened as it rang. He had no great hope that it would be answered, as he had been trying near constantly since he and Bobby had hit the road. Sam was either ignoring it, or Lucifer was distracting Sam some other way. He didn't like to think how Lucifer would distract Sam. The best case scenario was that Sam was on a hunt, and even that wasn't a particularly appealing prospect.

"Anything?" Bobby asked from the passenger seat.

Dean shook his head. "He's still not answering."

"He could be busy," Bobby said reasonably.

"Or he could be dead," Dean snapped.

Bobby's eyes widened, and Dean immediately felt guilty for taking his temper out on his surrogate father. He knew Bobby was just as worried about Sam as he was.

"I'm sorry. I'm just scared," Dean admitted.

"Of course you are. You'd be a fool not to be. But we're close. Just a few more hours and we'll be with him."

Dean nodded and put his foot down. A few more hours seemed far too long to him. He had a tight feeling in his gut that they were going to be too late and that Sam would already be lost to them when they arrived, lost to the hallucination or lost to death. Dean honestly didn't know which would be worse.

Bobby watched Dean out of the corner of his eye. He was waiting for the moment it all became too much for Dean to bear. He had been through hell these last few weeks, and a person could only take so much before they broke. His thoughts drifted to his other charge, Sam, and he wondered what he had been through. He had been shaky when Bobby last saw him, and whatever had passed in the intervening weeks couldn't have done anything to help that. Bobby was scared that they would be too late to reach Sam, that he would be beyond their reach when they finally found him.

Unaware that their thoughts and fears were shared, Bobby and Dean powered down the highway towards their missing family member.

Just as Lucifer had said, and Sam had known, the house was empty.

With shaking hands, Sam picked the lock and let himself in. He stepped into the hall and closed the door carefully behind him. He didn't want an early waking neighbor to call the police. Though, in retrospect, maybe that was the best thing for him. Someone like him should be locked up. Shackled to a bed in a hospital where he could never hurt anyone again, somewhere that Dean wouldn't be able to reach him again. As Lucifer had been right; Sam was a curse, and he had destroyed Dean's life.

Sam knew the truth now. Lucifer wasn't real in the literal sense. He was still locked in the cage with Michael. Everything Lucifer had said and done was a result of Sam's own mind meting out the deserved punishment for his crimes. And what a wealth of crimes there were.

He stepped away from the door, his footsteps echoing on the wooden floor, and into the kitchen. The empty room was familiar, though the decorations were missing, as Sam had been here not that long ago when he and Dean had been given the advance preview of Heaven after they had been shot by Walt and Roy. Another failure to heap at Sam's doorstep. It was because of him that Dean had been killed. It was only their use as vessels to Lucifer and Michael that had stopped that being their final death.

Sam looked around the room and imagined it decorated as it had been then. He closed his eyes and imagined that he could hear his mother as she bustled around the room preparing a snack for a young Dean. His eyes opened, and he was almost disappointed that the room was empty. Why did his brain have to produce Lucifer as a hallucination? Why couldn't it be his mother? He knew the answer, though he was loathe to admit it. His mind could only recreate what it knew, and Sam hadn't known his mother. It was an appalling thought that he was more familiar with Lucifer, Satan himself, than he was his own mother.

He turned on his heel and looked at the place the dining table should have been. Had he not been cursed, if he had a normal life, he would have shared meals here with his family. He would have been cared for by his parents, not his brother, and Dean would never have heard the words 'take care of Sammy'. The life he had missed had never hurt his so much as in that moment. He wished he could go back to being that baby, the baby that had a mother that loved him, the baby that was not guilty of matricide by proxy.

He stepped out of the kitchen and into the hall again. The stairs called to him, leading him to the nursery, but he forwent that in favor of the lounge. He would go to the nursery eventually, but there were other memories, or rather lack of memories to face first. He imagined the lounge furnished. This was the place he would have sat to watch TV with his big brother. They would have fought over the remote and bitched and whined at each other. He had no memories of this happening in the motels they had spent their early years in. Dean had always acquiesced to Sam's wants.

He left the lounge and climbed the stairs. He passed closed doors, but he paid them no mind. There was only one room here that mattered. The place it had all started.

He pushed open the door and jumped back as a wall of flame met him. He flew into the wall behind him, cracking his head on the drywall. His eyes slammed shut as the heat passed over him, and then it was gone. He opened his eyes warily and saw through the open door. It was empty as all the other rooms, and like the other rooms, it was untouched by flame. Sam understood. It was another flash of the cage. Lucifer and Michael had both been fans of fire as a means of torture.

He stepped into the room, and his knees weakened as another flash of hell broke over him. He dropped to the floor, moaning as pain crippled him.

"No," he groaned. "It's not real. It's not real."

"Oh, but it is, Sam," a voice whispered in his mind. "It happened, so it is real. At least for you."

Sam cowered on the floor, covering his head with his hands. He couldn't bear this much longer.

"There is no need. I told you what you have to do. One bullet. One shot. And it will all be over."

The first time Sam had heard these words, his mind had rebelled against them. Now…

"No!" he moaned. "I can't do that. Not to Dean."

"You will be doing this for Dean," Lucifer whispered against his ear. "Freeing him finally."

Sam looked up and saw Lucifer bending over him. He scrambled back against the wall and drew his knees up to his chest. "I can't!"

Lucifer shimmered and Dean replaced him. "Why can't you? It would be setting me free at last."

"You're not Dean," Sam said.

Dean shrugged. "True, but that doesn't mean I am wrong. I am just telling you what you already know. Would it help if I was to look like this?"

Dean disappeared and Jessica took his place. Sam slammed his eyes shut. He couldn't bear to look at her, even though he knew it was not really her.

"Come on, baby," she said. "You know it's the right thing to do. You're brother deserves a real life. And, if you do it, we can be together again."

Sam shook his head. "No. I was there. I didn't see you."

Jess laughed her familiar laugh. It made Sam's chest ache. "Billions of heavens pressing in on each other. Of course you didn't see me. You weren't there long enough. But if you come, you can find me, and we can be together."

It was exactly what Sam wanted to hear, because it was coming directly from Sam's mind. The lies were so tempting, so alluring; it would be so easy to give in to them.

Sam eyes snapped open as he heard a new voice, a sickeningly familiar voice. "You know it's for the best, son."

Sam looked up and saw John Winchester looking down at him with a familiar expression of disappointment.

"You would be setting your brother free. Between the two of us, we have cost him enough. He has died for you before. Sooner or later it will happen again, and this time there will be no angel to save him."

"I can't," Sam croaked. "He would hate me."

John shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe he would, for a while at least, but eventually he would see it's for the best. He would know you did it for him."

Sam shook his head in mute denial. John scowled down at him, and his form shimmered. Sam knew who was coming next, as she was the only one for whom he would do this. Though he knew what she was going to ask of him, he couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation as he waited for her to appear.

Mary Winchester knelt beside her son and caressed his cheek. "Sam."

"Mom," Sam said in a half sob.

"It's me, sweetie."

Sam leaned into her touch and absorbed the feeling of peace that she radiated.

"You know what you have to do. Your father is right; it will be setting him free." She ran a hand through Sam's hair, pushing his bangs from his face. "You owe your brother this."

A new peace settled over Sam. It was more than the peace of having his mother close to him; it was the peace that came with a long fought over choice.

"I know," he said.

Mary beamed at him. "That's my good son." She cast him one last look of longing, and then she disappeared.

Sam grieved to see her go, but he didn't dwell on it long. He had a job to do. Pushing himself to his feet, he stood on shaky legs and looked around the empty room. This was the place it had all started. Now he had to go to the place where it all ended.

There was just one more thing to do first.

"You're exhausted, boy. Let me drive for a while," Bobby said.

"It's okay. We're almost there now."

"Exactly, we're almost there, and if you're not careful, you are going to fall asleep at the wheel and wrap us both around a tree."

Conceding defeat, Dean pulled the car to a stop and climbed out. Bobby walked around the car and slid in behind the wheel. Dean took a moment to stretch his aching leg before following. As he slipped into the passenger seat, he pulled his phone out and repeated the familiar action of dialing his brother's cell phone number. There was no answer, not that he had expected one.

"Still nothing?" Bobby said. It wasn't a question.

"No, nothing."

"You checked the GPS again?"

Dean pulled up the app on his phone and typed in the information for Sam's phone. A small map appeared and a blinking dot showed Sam's location.

"He's at our old house," Dean said.

"What d'ya think he's doing there?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he wants somewhere familiar, and excepting your place, that's the closest thing we've ever had to a home."

Though Dean's voice was calm, he was fighting a deep fear. Why would Sam want to go home? What had Lucifer said or done to bring him here? He couldn't help but think something was very wrong. More wrong that having a head full of hell and Lucifer as a hunting buddy. In short, Dean was scared.

Bobby wasn't fooled by Dean's calm tone. He knew Dean was fighting the same fear that he was. Sam's trip to Lawrence felt like the big crescendo before the end. Though what end Sam had come to, Bobby didn't want to imagine.

They drove in relative silence for a while, the only sounds the dialing of Dean's phone and his exasperated huffs when it went unanswered. They were just passing through Topeka when a phone rang.

Dean snatched his phone up. "Sammy! Sam!"

"It's mine," Bobby said, reaching into the glove compartment. He flicked open the cover and pressed the phone between his ear and shoulder. "Bobby Singer." He was silent for a second, and then he pulled the car to a grinding halt in the middle of the lane. "Sam!"

Dean's head shot up. He reached to snatch the phone away from Bobby, but the older man slapped his hand away. Covering the mouthpiece with one hand, Bobby whispered, "He thinks he's with you. If he hears your voice, it might scare him off the phone.

Dean nodded his reluctant agreement and stayed silent as Bobby put the phone on speaker.

"Yeah, it's me, son," Bobby said. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know." Sam voice was hollow and tired, but despite that, Dean felt his heart lighten when he heard it. He had been scared he would never hear it again. "Things are messed up, Bobby."

"I know, boy. I'm gonna help you," Bobby said gently.

"It's okay. I know what I have to do now," Sam said. There was something in his tone that sent chills down Dean's spine. More than anything, he wanted to ask what Sam meant. But he didn't dare speak for fear of scaring his brother away. He implored Bobby with his eyes, needing someone to ask the question he desperately needed answered.

"What are you talking about?" Bobby asked.

"It doesn't matter. That's not why I am calling. I need you to do something for me."

"Anything," Bobby vowed without hesitation. "You know that."

"I need you to take care of Dean. He's going to be pretty angry for a while, but he will see it's for the best in the end. He has to see that."

Cold hard fear twisted Dean's gut.

"Sam, what are you talking about," Bobby said in a fearful voice.

"It's okay, Bobby. I'm doing the right thing. They told me."

"Who told you? Dammit, Sam. Whatever you're thinking of doing, don't do it. I'm on my way. I'll be with you in"—he checked the map—"thirty minutes. Just hang on a little longer."

"No. Don't come," Sam said firmly. "I don't want you seeing this."

"Seeing what? You're scaring me, Sam."

"I've got to go now, Bobby. You take care of Dean for me."

Bobby blanched. "No! Sam!"

"Bye, Bobby." The dial tone replaced the sound of Sam's voice. Bobby threw the floor onto the floor in frustration.

Dean was too stunned to move or speak. His mind was reeling. He had a horrible fear he knew what Sam was planning to do next. And the thought sickened him.

Bobby threw the car into gear and slammed his foot on the pedal. "We're going to find him," he said, speaking to himself as much as he was Dean. "He's going to be fine."

Dean hoped so with all his heart, as he didn't know what he would do without his brother. Whatever it was, he wouldn't do it for long.

Sam raked the floor with lighter fluid and salt and then dropped the match. The flames danced across the floor, catching on the stairs and licking up the balustrade.

Sam smiled as he watched. It was more like a grimace than a smile, but he would take what he could get. The time for true smiles was over.

He turned his back on the fire and exited the house. He was satisfied that the place would be gutted before the fire crew could arrive. The house would curse no one else.

His last task done, he climbed into the Impala and drove out towards his last destination.

The place where it had ended last time would be the place it ended for good.


	9. Chapter 9

They saw the smoke as they approached the turning, and a sick sinking feeling assaulted them both.

"It's fine," Bobby assured them both. "There's no reason to believe it has anything to do with Sam."

"In case you haven't noticed, it's always got something to do with Sam."

They rounded the corner and caught sight of the burning building. The fire Sam had set had taken hold now; flames poured from the roof. A fire crew fought the fire with hoses, while police held back the curious onlookers.

Dean heart contracted, and he leapt from the still moving car.

"Dean!" Bobby called after him as he slammed the car to a halt.

A cop caught Dean's arm as he raced towards the house. "You can't go any closer, buddy," he said.

"No, you don't understand. My brother…" Dean's breath came in pants.

The cop gave him an assessing look. "What's that about your brother?"

"I think he's in there," Dean said desperately. Images of an unconscious Sam trapped inside the house assaulted his mind. In his head, flames licked closer and closer to Sam. He retched.

"Are you sure?" the cop asked.

"Yes. I mean no. I don't know." Dean's thoughts were scrambled by his fear.

"Hey, I think we've got someone in there," the cop said to one of the fire crew.

The man turned. "I thought the place was supposed to be empty." He looked to Dean for an explanation.

Dean couldn't speak. He was overcome with horror. Was this what Sam had been talking about? Did he plan to set the house alight with himself still inside? As methods of suicide went, it was fairly grisly, but there was no knowing what Lucifer was capable of persuading Sam to do.

"Hey, talk to me," the fireman commanded. "Is there someone inside?"

"No." Bobby had finally caught up with them. "There's no one inside."

"But your friend said…"

"He's confused. He's been through a lot lately. His brother's missing."

"Okay, sir. If you would like to give this officer a description of your brother he can file a missing persons," the fireman said sympathetically.

Bobby nodded politely even as he dragged Dean away from the police officer.

"What are you doing?" Dean demanded. "Sam is—"

"Not in there," Bobby finished for him.

"How can you know that?"

"Because the car isn't here," Bobby said. "I don't doubt that Sam set the fire, but he didn't stay. Your car is gone and that means he is, too."

Bobby had felt the same thrill of terror as he had seen the burning house, and he had shared Dean's horrifying images of an unconscious Sam inside, but reason had caught up with him when he failed to see the Impala. For whatever reason Sam had set the house ablaze, he hadn't stayed to see it burn. The real question now was where Sam had gone next.

Dean was coming to the same conclusion. He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the map for a Sam's location. He cursed as the message came up saying that Sam's location was unavailable. He must have turned it off after he called Bobby.

"Where is he?" Bobby asked.

Dean sighed heavily. "I don't know. He turned the damned phone off again." He felt a wave of despair. Sam could be anywhere by now. "What am I going to do?"

"You're going to think," Bobby said impatiently. "Where would Sam go?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"You knew he was coming back here. Think like Sam. If you were him, and were planning what he's planning, where would you go?"

Dean didn't want to think like his brother. To do that would be to admit to what Bobby was hinting at. That Sam was going to take his own life. The thought was repugnant to him.

"C'mon, Dean, think!" Bobby took Dean's arm and led him back to the car.

Against his wishes, Dean put himself into his brother's position. Sam was sentimental. He would want somewhere with meaning. That was why Dean had been sure he would be at the house, but he hadn't taken Lucifer into account. Sam had been running with his hallucination for over three weeks now. Lucifer was firmly rooted in his mind.

Thoughts of Lucifer brought the answer to Dean's mind. He gasped. "Stull!"

"The cemetery?" Bobby questioned. "Where Lucifer and Michael were supposed to have their smack-down?"

Dean shook his head. "The place Sam took the dive. Sam's sentimental. He would want to end it where it started for him."

"I sure hope you're right," Bobby said.

Dean was thinking the exact same thing. As he put the car into gear and pulled back onto the road, he prayed that he wouldn't be too late.

Sam didn't race away from the burning house. He drove steadily away, in no rush to do what came next. He was at peace with his decision, or so he thought. But a small, unacknowledged part of him was hoping someone would see him going and know to stop him.

He didn't want to die. He was sure he was bound for hell again, despite what Jess had said, and he didn't want to doom himself to an eternity there. Not again. But this wasn't about what he wanted; it was about what Dean needed. He needed to be set free.

Sam had felt a little better about what he was doing after talking to Bobby. He was satisfied that Dean would be taken care of and that he would one day understand why Sam did it. It wasn't a selfish act. It was a selfless one. The only selfish part of what he was going to do was the mess he was leaving behind for someone else to find. At least it wouldn't be Dean that found him. That was one comfort that Sam could take from this. It could be Bobby, of course. He had said he was close, but Bobby wouldn't know where to find him. Only Dean knew him well enough to know where he would choose to go.

The car moved through the streets slowly. The world was slowly waking, and Sam wondered what was happening inside the houses he passed, families going about their lives, not knowing someone was passing them on his way to his last great act.

The drive wasn't long enough for Sam. Soon he was driving through the gates of the cemetery. As he pulled the car to a stop, the sun crested over the horizon. It was almost as if it was greeting him, telling him it was okay. It was a beautiful sight, and Sam was pleased that he would have one last glimpse of something beautiful before he went.

He pulled the car to a halt and climbed reluctantly from the driver's seat. He ran a hand over the shining hood as he passed it, in a silent goodbye to the only home he could remember. He made his way around to the trunk and popped it open. There was a wealth of weapons inside, so many to choose from. The which didn't matter, only the what. He had considered his options carefully, and the only way to guarantee he succeeded was a gun. Anything else was too unpredictable. It was also poetic in a way. Live by the gun, die by the gun. He would have liked the Colt, that too would have been poetic, but there was no way of knowing where it was now. Lucifer had taken it…

Lucifer. Sam was glad that he had left Sam alone for now. He didn't want to hear his taunting as he did this.

Sam picked up his .45 and stepped around to the front of the car again. He sat on the damp ground and pulled his knees up to his chest. Now the moment was here, he was scared. It was only his ingrained belief that he was doing the right thing, the selfless thing, that stopped him from climbing into the car and driving away again.

"This is for Dean," he murmured to the empty graveyard.

He took the safety off and pressed the gun to his temple.

"All for Dean."

Dean smacked the steering wheel in frustration and cursed. "Dammit, Bobby. You couldn't have chosen a faster car?"

Bobby didn't answer. He knew Dean wasn't really talking to him. He was just venting his frustration at the only thing he could. Bobby felt the same way. He wanted to punch things and yell and cry. Anything to ease the pit of desperation building in his stomach. As much as he tried to bat the idea away, a voice was whispering in his mind that they were going to be too late.

Dean was barely hanging on to his sanity. His worst fear was coming to fruition, and time was not on his side. He didn't know what he would do if he was too late. He didn't know how to function in a world without Sam. Not anymore. Not after getting him back. Memories of Cold Oak forced themselves upon him, and his eyes burned. He remembered how it had felt to hold Sam in his arms as the life bled from him. He had sworn the moment he came back to the cabin and found Sam alive again that nothing would ever take his brother from him again. Plenty had tried, people, monsters, demons, and even hell, but he always got him back. He was determined that this time would be no different. He would get to Sam and he would save him from himself.

"He's there," Bobby said as they came within sight of the cemetery. "I can see the car."

Dean had seen it, too, but what he couldn't see was his brother. A flash of Sam lying prone, bleeding on the ground came to his mind, and he forced it away. That wasn't going to happen. He wouldn't let it.

He yanked on the handbrake and jumped out of the car. "Sam! Sammy!"

Sam heard the shout, and his finger faltered on the trigger. "Dean?"

Dean felt a wave of relief so intense it stole his breath as he heard his brother's reply. He ran in the direction of the sound, and his heart stopped. Sam was sitting, resting his back against the car. He would have looked like he was merely taking a rest if it wasn't for the gun pressed against his temple.

Dean gasped. "Sammy, no!"

Sam looked at Dean with a furrowed brow, almost as if he was confused.

"Put the gun down!"

Bobby heard Dean's command and his heart clenched. They weren't too late, not yet at least, but they were close. If Sam had the gun out already… It was down to them to stop him. He stepped slowly around the car, preparing to wrest the gun from Sam, but Dean held out a hand to stop him. Bobby couldn't see how close Sam was to pulling the trigger, but Dean could, and he knew if Bobby was to attempt to tackle Sam, it would all be over.

"Dean?" Sam looked up at Dean questioningly. "What are you doing here?"

"Where else would I be?" Dean asked. "Your brother takes off with Satan, you do all you can to find him."

Sam nodded as if coming to a realization. "Oh, you're him again."

"No, Sammy. It's really me," Dean said, knowing what Sam was thinking and hating it. "Not Lucifer. I'm really here."

"Okay," Sam said quietly.

Dean knew Sam didn't believe him, and he was at a loss for what to do. He gestured Bobby to come into view. "Bobby's here, too," he said. "We're both here and we're both real. C'mon, Sam, you have to believe me."

Bobby felt a sickening twinge of horror as he stepped into view and saw Sam with the gun at his temple. He wanted to make a grab for it, but he knew if he even twitched the wrong way, Sam would pull the trigger.

"It's me, boy," he said softly.

Sam looked at him for a long moment, and then nodded. "Hey, Bobby."

Dean and Bobby exchanged a look. It didn't seem like they had broken through to Sam, and they were all out of ideas. Dean had been sure when Sam saw Bobby he would believe.

"It's us, Sam," Dean said. "Think about it. Lucifer can't be two people."

Seemingly without thought, Sam lowered the gun to his lap and nodded. "Okay."

Dean looked into his brother's eyes and emptiness stared back at him. It was as if his brother was already dead.

Slowly, Dean lowered himself to the ground and knelt opposite his brother. "I need you to look at me, Sam. See it's really me."

Sam raised his head and looked at Dean. "It's really you. I know that."

Dean exhaled in a gust. "Oh, thank god."

"But now you have to leave. I have something to do."

Dean's eyes widened. "We're not leaving you, Sammy."

"You have to. I don't want you here for this. There is something I have to do."

"I can see that," Dean said. "But you don't have to do anything. I am here now. I can take care of you."

Sam smiled wryly. It was for precisely that reason that he had to do this. He needed to free Dean of this burden. He didn't know what to do though. The gun was still gripped tight in his hand, a heavy weight against his lap, a comforting weight.

Dean saw Sam's smile and misinterpreted it as agreement with his words. "That's right, Sammy. I'm going to take care of you."

Sam shook his head and looked to Bobby. "Can you take him away now?"

Bobby gaped at him. "You want me to take Dean away?"

"Yes. I don't want either of you here for this."

"I'm not going anywhere," Dean growled. "Not while you're sitting there with a gun in your lap."

Sam frowned, frustrated by Dean's refusal. He didn't understand why Dean couldn't see it was for the best. He should have to witness this. He had already suffered enough on Sam's account. Sam wished they hadn't come. He was prepared to do what needed to be done, the decision was made, but now they were here, complicating things.

"Don't you see? That's why you have to go. I can't do this with you here."

"Then I'm definitely not leaving," Dean said.

Sam gripped the gun a little tighter and pushed himself to his feet. Marching past Dean where he sat on the ground, he began to pace.

"Give us a minute, Bobby," Dean instructed. "I need to be alone with my brother."

Though it was the last thing he wanted to do, Bobby nodded and walked back to his car. Sliding into the driver's seat, he leaned his head against the steering wheel and forced back the tears that threatened to fall. He half expected to hear the crack of a gun at any minute.

Sam watched Bobby as he walked away, relieved that at least one of his concerns was dealt with. He just had to make Dean understand. "I have to do this, Dean. For both our sakes. You shouldn't have to…"

"To what?" Dean asked, getting to his feet, too.

"To live like this anymore. I am setting you free."

"Free from what? Free from a world with my brother in it? Because I have already lived that life, and I can't do it again."

Sam scowled at him. "No. I am freeing you from the world in which you are shackled to me. I have stolen your life, and I am sorry, but this is one thing I can do to put it right."

Dean was brought up short by Sam's words. Of all the things he had expected, this was not it. He had expected Sam to excuse what he was doing for his own reasons. He had expected reasons like living with Lucifer wasn't really living, or that the memories of hell were tormenting him too much to stand. He was prepared to deal with those reasons by promising to be there to help. He had no defense when Sam thought he was acting for Dean's best interests.

"You wouldn't be putting it right," Dean said. "You would be destroying it all. All I have devoted my life to—to taking care of you. How am I supposed to live knowing I failed?"

Sam looked at him sadly. "It wouldn't feel like that forever. It would get better."

"Maybe it would, but there would always be a hole in my life where you used to be. Are you really going to curse me to that?"

Dean hated talking about feelings. That was strictly Sam's thing. But if there was ever a time to overcome his own wants, it was this. He had to reach his brother before it was too late.

"I'm sorry, Dean, but it's the only way," Sam said.

An idea occurred to Dean, and he embraced it. He couldn't reach Sam as he thought he was doing the best thing for Dean. Dean had to use that weakness against his brother.

He pulled out his own gun and took off the safety. "Fine. You want to do this, we do it together."

Sam's eyes widened. "No!"

"Yes," Dean said remorselessly. "We have shared everything since you were six months old. Let's share this, too."

"Dean, no!"

Cold hard fear gripped Sam's insides. This was not what was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be fast and easy. This was the furthest thing from that. He couldn't let Dean kill himself. It was wrong. The world was supposed to have Dean in it, just as it was not supposed to have Sam. Sam had been living on borrowed time since Jake had stabbed him in Cold Oak. Doing this was just setting the score straight at last.

"Yes, Sam. You shoot, I shoot. It's as simple as that."

"You can't. This isn't how it's supposed to go."

"According to who? Lucifer? Because he's not real. He's just a hallucination, Sammy. Whatever he said to you, it's not real."

Sam shook his head. "No, it's right. They told me."

"Who told you?"

"Mom, dad, Jess. They all said this was the right thing to do."

Dean felt sick. Not only had Lucifer appeared to him as Dean, he had used everyone Sam had loved and lost to make his point. Except it wasn't Lucifer. It was all Sam's head.

"They lied," he said simply. "Who are you going to believe, a hallucination or your own brother?"

Sam didn't know what to do. The others had made it seem like this was the right thing to do, the only thing to do, but here was Dean, his real flesh and blood brother, telling him it was wrong.

"Believe me, Sammy. Believe in me. You can't do this to me. I need you, man."

Sam raised his hand, holding out the gun to his brother, when the whisper came to him. "Selfish." He raised his head and saw Lucifer smirking at him. "So selfish, Sam."

Sam's hand snapped up and he pulled the trigger.


	10. Chapter 10

Bobby heard the gunshot ring out, and he threw himself from the car. He didn't know which of his boys had taken the hit, but he knew whichever it was, he had lost them both. One wouldn't live without the other; they just didn't know how anymore. He raced back toward the Impala, and his heart sank as he couldn't see either of them.

"Sam! Dean!" he bellowed, his voice cracked with fear.

"Here," a soft voice replied.

He rounded the corner of the car and saw Dean kneeling on the floor, supporting his brother. His mind was taken back years to Cold Oak and the moment he had seen Dean cradling his brother's dead body. Now he was seeing the same thing again, and he couldn't bear it. Except he wasn't. Then, Sam had been silent and still, now he was shaking and sobbing.

"Is he…" Bobby couldn't finish his question. He didn't want to know where Sam had been hit or how bad it was. All he knew was that, for now, Sam was alive.

"He's okay," Dean said. "It wasn't him."

Bobby raked Dean's form for a sign of injury, but there was none.

"It was Lucifer," Dean mouthed, still clinging to his brother, and Bobby understood. Dean had told him everything that had happened in the warehouse, and he knew Sam had taken a shot at thin air then. Apparently, he had done the same again. Bobby's relief was so great it made his knees weak.

Dean clung to his brother, reassuring himself that he was really there and was okay. For a moment he had believed Sam was aiming for himself when he raised the gun, and no moment had ever lasted longer to him. He had been overwhelmed with relief when Sam shot to the left, at thin air.

Sam sobbed into Dean's shoulder, unable to rally any last defenses against the pain. Every moment of the last three weeks was assaulting him. Every time the fake Dean had chastised him for a mistake. The aching loneliness he had felt. The pain of knowing he was failing in everything. And most of all the crippling grief he had felt as each dead member of his family had whispered to him, telling him that killing himself was the right thing to do. It all broke over him, breaking his heart.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean whispered into his brother's hair.

Both the guns had fallen to the ground. Bobby stepped forward cautiously and picked them up. Not convinced that the moment had passed. As he stooped to pick them up, he rested a hand on Dean's shoulder in a mute gesture of comfort. He would have liked to do the same for Sam, but something in the way Sam sobbed against his brother made him think that one touch would break Sam apart into a million pieces.

"I'm so sorry," Sam choked almost incoherently. "I didn't mean to… I never thought…"

Dean shushed him gently and fisted his brother's jacket. "It's okay, Sammy. I've got you now. I'm going to take care of you."

Bobby watched the emotional scene and wiped away the tear that tracked down his cheek and into his beard. His boys were breaking apart and all he could do was watch.

Eventually, Sam's sobs became whimpers and the whimpers became silence. In a way, the silence was even more frightening.

He pushed himself away from Dean and got to his feet. "Sorry," he mumbled.

He looked on the ground for his fallen gun and saw it in Bobby's hand. He nodded to Bobby and walked slowly back to the Impala. "We should probably go," he said quietly. "I set a house on fire." He slid in the passenger side and rested his head against the window, staring out at the scraggy graves.

Dean and Bobby exchanged a glance.

"You think he's okay?" Bobby asked, stupidly in Dean's opinion.

Dean raked a hand over his face, relief that his brother was alive battled against fear that this thing was far from over. "I think he's the farthest thing from okay, but at least he's alive."

Bobby nodded sagely. "We'll bring him the rest of the way back. Don't you worry."

Dean made no response. He just walked back to the Impala and slid into the driver's seat. For the first time he took a good look at his brother. Dark shadows encircled Sam's eyes and his skin was grayish. His face was gaunt and haunted looking. Unsurprisingly, he clearly hadn't been taking care of himself.

"We, umm, we've been staying at Rufus's old place in Montana," Dean said. "Bobby's place kinda got burned down by the Leviathans. I think we should head back there."

Sam looked up lazily and nodded. "Okay."

"You sure? We can stop at a motel or something if you need sleep."

"I can sleep here."

Dean wasn't so foolish as to believe that he brother was really going to sleep. Despite how clearly exhausted he was, Sam had been through too much to just stop and sleep now. If it pleased Sam to pretend though, he would allow it. He had no idea what to say to his brother anyway.

Bobby followed Dean and Sam out onto the main road, and he wondered at the conversation taking place in the other car. What could you possibly say after what had just happened. There didn't seem to be words strong enough. Bobby had faced countless monsters, demons and creatures that other people would run in fear from, but never had he been so scared as he was the moment he saw Sam with the gun to his head. He was still shaking.

They passed the still smoking remains of their old house on the way out of town, and Sam raised his head to look at it. Thinking that at least one good thing had come of the last three weeks, he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep.

They had to stop to rest in Wyoming. Dean booked them into a room and Sam fell fast asleep the minute his head hit the pillow. Dean wasn't so lucky. He knew all that had happened lurked in his mind, ready to play out in nightmares, so he skipped the bed in favor of coffee. Sitting on the small, ratty couch, he watched his brother sleep. The gentle rise and fall of Sam's chest hypnotized him. Back in the cemetery, he had thought it would stop forever.

The next morning, while Sam still slept, Dean knocked on the door to Bobby's adjoining room. Bobby answered the door, looking like he hadn't had a wink of sleep either. His eyes were tired and shadowed.

"Morning," he said gruffly, stepping aside to let Dean in. "How was your night?"

"About as good as yours by the looks of it."

"Yeah, nightmares," Bobby said. "You?"

"I didn't risk them. I went with coffee and the couch."

Bobby frowned. "That won't work forever you know."

Dean yawned widely. "I know it. But I just couldn't bear it last night."

"I know, son. How is he this morning?"

"Still sleeping. He looks like he'll be out for a few more hours yet. Did you get a good look at him?"

"I did. A few good meals should help, that and some sleep. I don't think he took good care of himself while Satan was in the driver's seat."

"It makes you wonder, doesn't it," Dean said. "What did he do while he was alone?"

"Other than hunting and hanging with his favorite hellion, you mean?" Bobby snorted. "I don't think we'll ever know for sure. Let's just say, I don't plan on grilling Sam on it."

Dean sighed. "Me either. He's been through enough already; there's no need to make him go through it again just to satisfy our curiosity."

Bobby poured them each a cup of coffee and they sat at opposite sides of the table, each avoiding the other's eyes. They both knew what they needed to talk about, but neither of them wanted to be the one to bring it up. Eventually, Dean spoke up.

"What are we going to do, Bobby?"

Bobby raked a hand over his face. "We help him. We listen if he feels like talking. We let him, lead us, but above all we keep him safe."

Dean huffed a laugh. "What do you think I've been trying to do all these years? I dedicated everything to keeping him safe and look what happened. Time and time again, I failed."

"You didn't fail, son," Bobby said softly. "Things happen. Life threw a few curves balls your way, but between the two of you, you have come out swinging. There's no reason you can't again."

"We've never had to deal with this kind of thing before, Bobby. Sam isn't just screwed. He's suicidal."

Bobby sucked in a breath. "Don't say that. It wasn't his fault; it was Lucifer."

"Yeah, Lucifer working with what was already in Sam's brain. He's a hallucination, Bobby. Whatever it was that happened to Sam, it was his own brain doing it."

"I don't believe that," Bobby said. "I agree some messed up stuff happened, but I don't believe Sam actually wants to die."

Dean shrugged. He didn't know what to say. He hoped it was Lucifer pulling Sam's strings and not some long inner suicidal desire. Lucifer he could handle, what he couldn't handle was knowing his brother was that bad off and that he had missed it.

"I better get back," Dean said, pushing back from the table. "I don't want him waking up alone."

Dean was pleased to find Sam was still sleeping when he got back to their room. Sam looked so peaceful, Dean half hoped he wouldn't wake for a few more hours. He knew that when Sam woke they needed to have a serious conversation, and he wasn't prepared for it. If it was ever possible to be prepared for something like that.

Sam woke slowly. At first he was aware of the warm blanket enveloping him, and he burrowed deeper, not wanting to pull from the perfect sleep he had been having. For the first time in weeks he had slept without dreaming of the cage. In fact, he hadn't dreamed of anything, but the light forcing itself upon him through his closed lids refused to let him fall asleep again. He cracked one eye open and glared balefully at the window.

"You awake, Sammy?"

The voice made Sam bolt upright. His eyes snapped to the left, and he saw Dean sitting on the edge of the second bed. His breath caught in his throat.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded mutely, confused by Dean's kind tone. It was the nicest Dean had been to him in weeks, not since the… The memories forced themselves on Sam like a tidal wave, Stull cemetery, a gun, and Dean.

"You're here," Sam said hoarsely. "Aren't you?"

Dean smiled wryly. "Yeah. It's really me. I'm here."

Sam nodded slowly. "Good. That's… good."

Dean stood and went to the table. "We've got breakfast," he said. "Bobby went out for us."

"Bobby is here, too," Sam said, confirming it to himself.

"Yeah, he's just next door. Come and eat something," Dean said. "You look like you need it."

Sam swung his legs around and pushed himself to a standing position. He felt a little light-headed. He was also starving; he couldn't remember the last time he sat down to a real meal. He sat at the table and took the proffered Styrofoam package Dean was holding out to him. He ripped into it and found pancakes. They weren't hot, but they felt like the best thing Sam had ever eaten. He scarfed them down and downed the mug of coffee Dean poured for him. Replete, he pushed back from the chair.

"You needed that, apparently," Dean said with the ghost of a smile.

"Sorry," Sam said looking down at the table. "I guess it's been a while."

"Satan's not big on mealtimes," Dean said and then cursed himself for opening his mouth without engaging his brain. "Sammy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"It's okay," Sam said. "There's no need to tread on eggshells. It's the truth."

Dean sucked in a deep breath. He hadn't wanted to do this yet, but Sam seemed a lot more approachable than he had hoped. "We need to talk, Sammy," he said reluctantly.

Sam nodded. "I know. Where do you want to start?"

"What happened yesterday?" Dean asked.

Sam chewed his lip. He didn't know how to explain the confusion that was the previous day.

"I need to know what you are feeling, Sammy," Dean said. "I need you to tell me what I can do to stop it happening again."

"It won't happen again," Sam said instantly.

"I'd love to believe that, you don't know how much, but you don't get to a place like that in a day. What happened to make you believe you that killing yourself was the only answer?"

Sam shook his head. He didn't want to think of all that again. He just wanted to enjoy this peaceful moment with his brother. But Dean deserved better. He deserved to know the truth. Pushing aside his misgivings, Sam launched into his tale.

"To understand what happened yesterday, you have to understand what has happened since we parted in the warehouse." He cocked his head to the side as he considered. "That's when it happened, right? When I chose the wrong Dean."

Dean nodded. "That's right. You left with no one, but you seemed to think I was there with you. You were talking to thin air."

Sam frowned. He imagined how it must have felt for his brother to see him like that. He imagined how he would feel if he was put in Dean's position, and a sick tightening twisted his gut.

Dean misinterpreted his pained expression. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Sam. I was just trying to make you see."

"I understand," Sam said. "I see that now. But at the time, it was so confusing. Lucifer was talking to me, and everything he said made so much sense."

Dean scowled. Here they were talking about Lucifer, when in truth it was all Sam's brain. He didn't think now was the time to point that out though. Sam was talking at last, and he didn't want to scare him into silence again.

Sam shook his head, as if dispelling an upsetting thought, and continued. "I thought I was with you. For the last… How long has it been?"

"Almost four weeks," Dean said.

Sam was shocked that it had been so long. To lose yourself to a hallucination for an hour, or even a day, was bad, but weeks…

He pushed away the thought before it could overwhelm him.

"Weeks then. For the last few weeks I thought I was with you. At first it was okay, you were just being you, and then things changed. He, Lucifer, got worse…"

Sam trailed off and Dean knew he was avoiding certain topics to spare him. It didn't take a lot to imagine how cruel a Lucifer-Dean would be. He had persuaded Sam to kill himself after all.

"Then it got so I couldn't take it anymore," Sam said. "I knew there was something wrong with you, but I didn't realize what it was. I was going to call Bobby for help, but you, Lucifer, brought me to Lawrence. Things were pretty bad by then. Hell was creeping in all over, and I was seeing more than just you. I was overwhelmed."

"Is that why you wanted to kill yourself?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head jerkily. "No! I never wanted that!"

"Sammy," Dean chided. "I found you with a gun pressed to your head, ready to pull the trigger. You obviously wanted—"

"No, Dean. You don't understand. I never wanted to kill myself. I did it because I thought it was what you wanted."

"You thought I wanted you dead?" Dean asked incredulously. "Why on earth…?"

"Look at yourself, Dean. Look at our life. See what I have done to you."

"Sammy, you've done nothing to me. Honestly, without you, I don't know what I would be."

"I've done nothing?" Sam said with a harsh laugh. "Dean, I got you sent to hell. I stole your childhood. I tore you away from Lisa and Ben. I let you get changed into a vampire!"

"None of it was your fault," Dean said doggedly. "Lisa and Ben was a mistake on my part. I was selfish to insert myself into their lives. The supernatural world was always going to catch up with me. You coming back was the only good thing to happen in that year. True, you watched while I was turned into a vampire, but that wasn't you. Not really. You had no soul, no conscience. As for me going to hell, that was my choice to make. I knew the consequences when I made that deal, and I did it anyway. Doesn't that tell you anything?"

Sam scoffed. "You had no choice. You were brainwashed into thinking you had to protect me."

"Dammit, Sam, is that what you really think?"

"It's what you, he, said."

"Don't do this, Sam," Dean said firmly. "Whatever it was he said to you, it wasn't me, and it's not what I think. Making that deal, going to Hell, it was worth it as it saved you. You were worth it to me. You are worth it. I would do it all again."

Sam tried to believe Dean, but it was hard. Lucifer's words had made so much sense. How could Dean possibly want him around given all the chaos he had wrought in their lives.

"I need you Sammy." Tears were collecting at the edges of Dean's eyes. He leaned across the table and gripped Sam's wrist. "Believe in that. Believe me, okay? You gotta believe me. You gotta make it stone number one and build on it. You understand? I can't do it without you."

Sam nodded. "Okay."

"Okay, you believe me, or okay, you're going to pull a gun the next time you're alone?" Dean hated that he needed to ask.

"I believe you," Sam said. "I won't try anything again."

"Oh thank god," Dean sighed. He pushed himself to his feet and rounded the table in two steps. Grabbing his brother's shoulder, he pulled him against him and fisted his shirt. "Thank you, Sammy."

"Dean," Sam said with a weak smile.

"Yeah, Sammy."

"No chick-flick moments."

Dean clung to Sam a little tighter. "Whatever you say, bitch."

"Jerk."


End file.
